Losing Grip
by lollypopf
Summary: Set as a sequel to my story "Thanks for the Memories". Continues following Imogen and Fiona as they enter the next phase of their life. Fimogen-focused.
1. Chapter 1-Wish You Were Here

**A/N: This is meant to be read as a sequel to my first story (Thanks for the Memories). If you haven't read that one, there might be a couple references in here that you don't get. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter, I'm glad to be back at my keyboard for some Fimogen! :)**

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**Chapter 1-** Wish You Were Here

Imogen walked through the red door of their two-story townhome while kicking off her black boots and sorting through the day's mail. _Bills…bills…bills…ah ha! _She came across a small envelope printed with the words 'Ryerson University' at the top corner and quickly ripped through the seal. Her eyes scanned through the letter as she quietly read to herself: "Imogen Moreno, bla bla bla, it is with great pleasure that we approve your application for graduation in the Spring semester of 2017 with a Bachelor of Architectural Science!" Letting out a small, excited squeal, she read and then reread the letter before posting it to the refrigerator and hunting for her cell phone inside of her purse.

The phone rang five times and then directed her to voicemail. _Come on, Fionaaa, pick up!_ Her small fingers hit redial as she paced anxiously around the kitchen, biting her thumbnail. Voicemail again. "Ugh!" Imogen tossed the phone gently onto the counter and then opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water. As she was shutting the door, her eyes locked onto a small container resting on the middle shelf inside. A huge smile crept across her face as she pulled it out, knowing exactly what it was.

On the small to-go box was the word '_Junior's_'—the supplier of the most delicious cheesecake in all of New York. Fiona had introduced her to the place during one of the younger girl's many trips to visit her now-fiancée. It took all of one small, fluffy bite for Imogen to fall completely head over heels in love with the chocolate-raspberry cheesecake. Ever since then, Fiona would always bring a piece of it back with her whenever she returned to Toronto.

Imogen excitedly set the box onto the counter next to her phone and then made her way through the home in search of her fiancée. As she bounced up the stairs, her nostrils and heart filled with the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5.

Fiona was found propped up on the bed flipping through a Vogue magazine. As the young girl entered the room, the socialite's eyes rose above the pages. "Miss me?" she smiled.

"Oh my god, Fiones!" Imogen pounced onto the bed and ripped the magazine from the girl's hands before tossing it to the floor. She then lunged into the older girl's arms, giving her tightest of squeezes. "So much! I can't believe it's been over a month since I've seen you." She released her grip, placed a small kiss Fiona's cheek, and then rolled over to her own side of the bed. "When did you get in?"

The curly brunette picked up the tan hand beside her and began playing with her slender fingers. "A couple hours ago. I wanted to surprise you."

"Well surprise me you did, Miss Coyne." Imogen leaned her head against Fiona's shoulder and then breathed out a sigh. "You know, when we got this place two years ago I was kind of under the impression that it would be more of a _shared_ residence. I hate that you're gone all of the time. You live with Eli more than you live with me—_you two_ might as well be dating."

The socialite let out a small chuckle and then pushed a piece of the young girl's brown hair behind her ear. "Immy, I'm glad you've finally realized that Eli and I belong together. We've been wanting to tell you for months, we just didn't know how," she joked. "Be my maid-of-honor at our wedding?"

Imogen raised her head and gave her fiancée a giant eye-roll. "Ha. Ha. Very funny." She removed her hand from the other girl's grasp. "I'm serious, Fiona. It's hard being away from you for so long at a time." Her stare was now on the small bracelet dangling from her wrist as she thought of its inscription. As her eyes filled with tears, she rose from the bed and started towards the stairs.

"Hey, where are you going?" Fiona stared, confused as the girl walked away. Seconds passed before she let out a deep breath and then calmly got up and made her own way down the stairs. She found Imogen sitting on the couch in their living room, clutching onto a pillow in her lap. "Imogen…I'm doing the best I can," she breathed. The older girl lowered herself onto the red chaise that was beside the couch. "Whenever I got this promotion I thought that it would make it easier to schedule time off…it's just been really busy lately, especially with Fashion Week coming up." Her brow wrinkled, "…and is Eli really something you're worried about? Because number one—lesbian," she enunciated while pointing at herself, "number two—soul mates," her finger was now shifting between them, "and number three—he _really_ needed a place to stay whenever Clare kicked him out. I couldn't just let him be _homeless_."

Imogen set the pillow to her side and tucked her feet up onto the couch, pulling the small throw blanket over herself. "Of course I'm not worried about Eli. That's not what I meant…I just miss you is all. And I'm jealous that lately he gets to live with you more than I do. After all of these years of you doing the 'back-and-forth' thing, I'm just SO ready for us to do the 'settle-down-in-one-place' thing." She met the other girl's blue eyes and then motioned for her to come sit beside her.

Fiona gave a relieved smile and then found her place next to her petite fiancée. She wrapped her arm around the girl, placing a kiss on top of her head. "I'm ready for that too," she whispered. "Just think—if you're able to graduate this semester, you can come to New York and we can finally ditch all of those ridiculously annoying miles between us."

"And the boy roommate?" The younger girl perked her head up.

"And the boy roommate." Fiona agreed, with a playful tickle. "Besides, he and Clare will be back together before you know it. You know how it is with those two and their 'epic romance'," she punctuated with air-quotes.

Imogen nodded. "They are indeed the _most_ dramatic of human specimens."

"Hmm…I thought _you_ were the most dramatic of human specimens!" Fiona stuck her tongue out mockingly.

"Hey, you take that back!" She picked up the pillow and swung it softly against the older girl. The socialite rapidly threw up her hands in surrender, not wanting to risk the possibility of a perfectly manicured fingernail breaking mid-pillow fight. "That's what I thought," Imogen smiled proudly. Setting down the pillow, her head found its way back onto Fiona's shoulder. "Sooo…remember that whole 'if I graduate this semester' conversation?"

"Umm…you mean the one we literally _just_ had?" Fiona questioned.

"That would be the one! I see your memory is just as superior as always, Madame Coyne!" Imogen stretched the blanket out slightly so that the other girl could share it with her. "Well in two months you'll be looking at a Ryerson University graduate!"

Fiona lunged her body upwards, positioning herself to face her fiancée. "Im! You did it? It's official?!" The younger girl bobbed her head up and down eagerly as she was enveloped in a huge hug. "I'm so proud of you, that's amazing!"

"Mhmm," she agreed with a mischievous grin. "And do you remember what you said when we got engaged?"

"That I wanted to wait to get married until after you graduated?"

"Yep!" Imogen looked at Fiona expectantly, giving her best puppy-dog eyes.

The older girl smirked and brought her nose to the other girl's. "Well it looks like we have a wedding to plan," she established mid-Eskimo kiss.

"About time!" Imogen exclaimed. "Now can this planning begin over some chocolate-raspberry cheesecake?"

Fiona pushed up from the couch and began pulling the other girl into the kitchen. "Obviously!"


	2. Chapter 2- I'm With You

**Chapter 2-** I'm With You

"Live band or DJ?" Imogen asked, while guiding a bite of the delicious cheesecake into her mouth.

"Umm is that even a real question?" Fiona scoffed. "Band, obviously. No self-respecting New Yorker would settle for a DJ'd wedding, Im. That's like asking 'chicken or seafood?' It's a no-brainer."

The young girl threw up her hands, feigning offense. "Well _excuse me_, Princess Fiona! Not all of us can be born into royalty!" She scrunched her nose at the other girl, flashing a bright smile. "Sooo…" she hesitated, "chicken or seafood…?"

The socialite let out a small laugh and shook her head. "I can't believe my future wife is such a party planning newb. You have _so_ much to learn. Lucky you have me."

"Very lucky," Imogen agreed, placing her hand on top of Fiona's. "And newb or not, you still love me!"

"Well now you're just putting words into my mouth," Fiona countered. Upon hearing this, Imogen quickly gave the girl an evil death-stare. "Only teasing! I love you more than anything else in the entire world...well except for Eli, of course." Imogen's brow relaxed at her girlfriend's humor and they shared a small grin. As the quirky girl leaned in to kiss Fiona, her phone vibrated on the countertop, putting a halt to her advances.

Disappointed, the older girl watched as her girlfriend directed her attention to her phone. Her curiosity was piqued when she saw Imogen's face perk up upon reading the text. "Who is it, Immy?" she questioned nonchalantly.

"No one important." Her tan fingers raced over the keystrokes as she sent her reply. "Just this guy from some of my classes—Dexter. He was asking if I got my graduation letter in today. Apparently a few of our classmates are going out to that new bar downtown to celebrate tonight."

Fiona cocked her head to the side and adjusted herself upwards. "Oh?" She said, trying to appear casual. "What did you tell him?"

Imogen squinted her eyes playfully, sensing Fiona's jealousy. "I told him that yes, I received my letter…Then I explained that my extremely gorgeous and breathtakingly flawless fiancée was in town and that she would be getting every ounce of my free time as long as she was in hugging distance." The young girl gave a satisfied grin as she nudged her phone across the counter and into the socialite's pale hands, proving to Fiona that it was exactly what she had sent to her classmate.

"Extremely gorgeous? Breathtakingly flawless?" The fashionista blushed, shaking her head. "I think you may be over-exaggerating me a smidge to your new friends, Im!"

"Nonsense!" Imogen lifted herself out of her stool and stepped closer towards the older girl to deliver a soft, lingering kiss on the girl's glossy lips. "Those incredibly simple adjectives don't even come close to doing Fiona Celestine Arabella Coyne's beauty any justice," she whispered into her ear.

Fiona wrapped her arms around the girl's petite waist and pulled her on to her lap as she deepened their kiss. Minutes passed before she parted from her fiancée's lips and admired her dark brown eyes—she studied how innocent they still looked, despite all of the hurt that the girl had endured during her short life; how bright they shined in spite of the thick lenses that shielded them from the world; how trusting they were as they gazed into her own blue ones. At that moment she realized that these deep brown eyes were the ones that she would be staring into for the rest of her life…and they were perfect. "I've missed you so much, Imogen."

"I've missed you too," the younger girl smiled. "Come on, let's go upstairs." She interlocked her tan, fragile fingers into the socialite's and led her up to their bedroom to make up for all of their lost time.

…

Imogen laid beside her sleeping fiancée, tracing her finger over the girl's contours. She relished in the sound of hearing Fiona's chest rise and fall with each tranquil breath. As the girl's eyes slowly crept open, she placed a tender kiss to her forehead and greeted her with a heartfelt grin. "Hey there, sleepyhead."

"Mmm, hey there," Fiona exhaled. "How long was I out?" She rubbed her eyes softly and pushed some curls out of her face.

"About an hour. It's eight-thirty'ish right now, I think."

The older brunette stretched out her limbs, savoring the comfort of their giant mattress. "That's not too bad," she yawned. "Sorry I dozed off so quickly afterwards. I was just so cozy."

"No need for apologies, Miss Coyne. I enjoy watching you slumber." Imogen placed a kiss on the girl's bare shoulder before reaching for her glasses on the end table and returning them to her face. "So what do you want to do tonight? Some online shopping? Sushi date at the strip? Maybe a movie?—NOT an Olivia Wilde one, for God's sake. But a normal movie?"

Fiona laughed at the young girl's adamancy. "I don't know. If you want to go out and celebrate with your classmates, I really don't mind. It's a big deal, Im, and you deserve to enjoy it."

Imogen's face shifted as her brow creased. "You've only been in for a few hours and you're already trying to get rid of me?" she asked, perplexed.

"Calm down, Silly. Of course I'm not trying to get rid of you." She poked the girl's tan hip, knowing her fiancée's ticklish parts. "I wish that I could go _with_ you to celebrate…but as we know, me being around that pesky alcohol can lead to 'Crazy Fiona'," the socialite garnished with air-quotes. "I just don't want you to miss out on these kinds of things. You worked so hard all through university for this…you deserve to enjoy it with your friends, and maybe even relax with a drink or two. Alcohol doesn't _always_ lead to train-wrecks. I'm just a bad example."

The eccentric girl stared at her girlfriend, conflicted. "But I want to spend time with _you_."

"And you will…I managed to score a whole two weeks for this trip, so we'll still have plenty of time for as much online shopping and sushi as your little heart desires." She brought her arm around her girlfriend and pulled her into her side. "But tonight is your free-pass. _Go. Live. _Be a regular university-student for once. I can make-do with Netflix and ice-cream for one night."

"Ugh! You are such a pain!" Imogen reached for her phone and began typing a message to Dexter. After she hit 'send' she turned and gave Fiona a sly stare. "This isn't because I said no Olivia Wilde movies, is it?"

The socialite rolled her eyes. "You caught me!" she teased sarcastically as she threw the blanket over the smaller girl and trapped her under it. "Say she's the best!"

Imogen wiggled around under the covers, failing to find an escape. "Okay, okay, she's the best!" she mumbled out. As Fiona pulled back the blanket, the quirky girl popped out and quickly pinned her girlfriend against a pillow. "I lied…_you're_ the best." Keeping her grasp on the girl's wrists, she lowered her head down and initiated the girls' final kiss of the evening.


	3. Chapter 3- What the Hell

**Chapter 3-** What the Hell

Imogen finished parking her car in the lot and turned off the ignition. Immediately, she reached for her phone and sent a message to a certain someone that she was missing entirely too much already.

9:56 PM- _I made it safely…already counting the seconds until I hear your sassy voice again. Wait up for me tonight?_

Anxious for Fiona's response, she checked her appearance in her rear-view mirror and adjusted an uncomfortable contact in her eye. Tapping her fingers nervously on the steering wheel, she stared at the entrance of the bar, feeling tempted to drive back home to recommence snuggling with her fiancée. As she lifted her key back up to the ignition, her phone lit up with a message.

9:59 PM- _Was already planning on it ;) Have fun tonight. It's okay to let loose (not too much, though!) If you don't think that you can drive later, just call me-I'd be there in an instant. Love you SOO much, Immy_

Imogen smiled reading the girl's words. She chose to stare at them for just a little while longer before she heard a tap on her window.

"You coming inside or are you going to stay in your car all night?" the boy joked. "They start charging a cover fee at 10:30, so now would probably be a good time to get off of your butt and scoot on in."

The young girl let out a deep breath, and tucked her phone inside the pocket of her red leather jacket. "Well hello to you too, Dex," she said as she opened her car door. "Not smart enough to find the entrance by yourself?" Imogen leaned in for a side-hug and reached her arm up high in order to tousle his short black hair.

He nudged her away playfully and readjusted his hairstyle. "Hardy har. So what changed from earlier? Did your 'extremely gorgeous' fiancée have something better come up?" His arm was reaching for the door handle, and after opening it he motioned for Imogen to walk in.

"No, but she insisted that I come here and hang out with you losers. Something about 'graduation is a big deal' or whatever," the girl shrugged.

"Well I'm glad you came. Us losers enjoy hanging out with you, even if we are just a last resort in your eyes."

Imogen walked further into the bar, taking in her surroundings. It was loud, and poorly lit. Her nostrils were filled with a heavy stench of cigarette smoke, and she hated knowing that she would smell that all night instead of the heavenly aroma that was awaiting her at home. The place was already pretty packed with people—free tables looked scarce. "Are the others here yet?"

From behind, Dexter put his arms on Imogen's shoulders as she continued walking forward. He guided her over to a small booth in the corner of the building. "No, we're the first ones. Katie and Nathan texted saying they wouldn't be here until later. They probably got into an argument or something, you know how it is." His voice was loud as he was trying to talk over the blaring music. "You sit here, and I'll go grab us some drinks. What do you want?"

The young girl racked her brain through the small list of drinks that she even knew existed. For some reason her mouth chose to echo the one that had caused the girl she loved so much heartache. "Champagne?" Instantly she wanted to change her selection, but her friend was already turning his direction towards the bar.

"Bold choice," the tall boy flashed a white crooked smile. His step quickened as he yelled, "I'll be right back!"

Imogen's conscience was flooded with guilt. She hated herself for even saying the word 'champagne'. It felt like she was betraying Fiona by befriending the girl's sworn liquid enemy. Her mind raced with doubt. _Will she be able to taste it on me? Will it make her miss it? _She shook her head from side to side, feeling stupid. _Just relax…she wants you to have fun. She sent you here. Breathe. _Her rambling thoughts were interrupted by the boy's return to their small table.

He placed the flute down in front of her and then took his seat by her side. "There you go, lady."

Her eyes lingered on the bubbles that were rising to the top of the glass. She brought her hand to the stem, picked it up, and nervously tilted it towards her mouth. As the liquid began to flow forward, she quickly returned the glass back down to the table, changing her mind. "What did you get to drink?" she motioned towards Dexter's small glass.

"Gin and tonic." His long fingers were swirling a small straw around in the clear liquor.

"Any chance you'd want to trade?" Imogen's eyes were desperate as he hesitantly agreed to switch their glasses.

"Umm…sure. Why?" His confused green eyes shifted towards the young girl.

Relieved, she let the mass of air escape her lungs and sent him a grateful grin. "Very long story," the girl patted his hand with her own. "Thank you."

…

It didn't take long for Imogen to begin feeling the effects of the alcohol. She was only two drinks in and her words were already becoming slightly slurred, with her mood shifting to just a tad bit too erratic. "Holy moly!" she yelled over the live band, "these gin and tonic doohickeys are quite strong!"

The older boy laughed at the girl's childlike choice of words. "I take it you don't drink very often?" He swigged from his own third gin and tonic, having switched back to them after finishing Imogen's champagne.

"I haven't drank anything since high school! And even then it was only once!" she poked him hard in the chest. "It comes with the territory of having an alcoholic girlfriend." Her face flushed with embarrassment as she heard the sentence come out of her mouth. She couldn't believe she had just said that. "Wait, that's not how it sounds!"

He drew his head back and ran his fingers through his hair. "So this Fiona…she's an alcoholic?" Dexter set his drink down on the table, catching the young girl's gaze. "She doesn't like…treat you badly, does she? Like when she drinks?"

Imogen shot him an angry look. "Of course not! You don't know anything about Fiona, she's not like that!" she said defensively. Watching the boy's face drop, she could tell her tone had offended him. Feeling bad about this, she immediately calmed her voice and tried to let go of her frustration. "Sorry. That was a bit much…I just don't want you to get the wrong idea about her—she's perfect. She _is _an alcoholic, but she hasn't had a drink since she was eighteen."

"Look, it's really none of my business. I didn't mean to pry." He took a small sip from his glass and then wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve. "It's just that you're pretty cool and this fiancée of yours better realize what she's got," his hand gave her thigh a small squeeze, sending an incredibly uncomfortable feeling up Imogen's spine.

"She does," she assured, casually pushing his hand off of her leg. In an attempt to change the subject, Imogen shifted her eyes away from the boy. "So have you heard anything else from Katie and Nathan?"

Dexter shook his head as he checked his phone. "Nope. Guess they got to the 'making-up' part of their argument. Looks like it's going to be just you and me tonight, kiddo."

After adjusting his body to slide his phone back into his pocket, the boy landed just a tad bit further away from Imogen than he was sitting before, much to her relief. She decided not to let that one small gesture that had made her uncomfortable ruin the rest of their night, convinced that she was making it into a bigger deal than it really was. After all, she had been crystal clear about the person that held her affections. "Do you want to dance or something?" she asked as she turned their attention towards the band.

"Does a solid foundation lead to a sturdy structure?" he asked rhetorically, playing at their architectural knowledge. "But first, celebratory shots!" He waved his hands around in the air humorously as he tried to get the attention of the blonde drink-girl.

Imogen laughed at the goofy boy, "Okay, if you insist!" Before grabbing a hold of the tube-shot, she clicked the button on her phone to check the time. The bright screen revealed two recently missed-calls from her mother, along with a large 11:42 PM. The quirky girl returned her phone to her jacket, cheers'd to their upcoming graduation, and then followed her friend over to the dance floor.

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><p><strong>AN: Don't freak out after reading this chapter, lol. Just trust me on where the story is going :)**

**HOWEVER, I will give a small disclaimer: I do NOT write pure fluff stories. I have no interest in doing that... Any story that I write on here is going to have a conflict/resolution type of plot. **


	4. Chapter 4- Stop Standing There

**Chapter 4-** Stop Standing There

"I haven't danced that much since high school!" Imogen exclaimed, trying to catch her breath as she sat back down at their table. Dexter set a glass of water down in front of her and then took his seat to her side. "My feet are _killing_ me!"

"I don't understand how you women wear those things," the boy said while motioning towards Imogen's heels.

The girl let out a half-laugh. "If you think those are bad, you should see the ones that Fiona wears…they are at least twice as tall as these, and she wears heels for everything!" Imogen's voice was upbeat as she discussed her fiancée. "Like seriously, she'll put on heels just to take out the trash. I can't even count how many times I've come home to find her asleep in the bed equipped with them on her feet. I think she wears them so often that she forgets they are even there!"

Dexter gave the girl a spirited nudge. "Oooh, so you nabbed yourself one of those fancy broads, huh?" he joked.

"The fanciest!" She picked up her water and began taking sips, very eager to sober up and return to her fancy broad. After setting her glass down, she directed her attention back to the dark haired boy. "So tonight actually turned out to be pretty fun. I'm glad I was forced to come," she finished with a wink.

Dexter let out a gasp and an overly dramatic expression arose on his face as he pretended to be shocked. "Even more fun than sitting at home watching movies with your lady?"

"Not a chance," the young girl proclaimed honestly.

The older boy raised his palms in defeat. "Okay, okay, fair enough," he surrendered, while taking sips from his own water. "So can I ask you a question?"

Imogen folded her arms over her chest and humorously bobbed her head like a genie. "Request granted!"

He fixed his green eyes into her brown ones, revealing his vulnerability. "How did you know that Fiona was the one?"

"The one what?" the girl asked obliviously.

"You know, _the one,_" he reiterated.

"Oh!" Imogen's face flushed with embarrassment for not understanding the first time. "Well this could take a while, how much time do you have?" she teased.

The boy remained looking at her, sincerely interested in hearing her answer. "Plenty."

"Okay," the quirky girl replied. She was slightly confused as to why he was so interested in knowing this. "Growing up, I was always pegged as being 'the weird girl'. I didn't have very many friends, as it was easier for people just to make fun of me for being different than it was for them to take the time to get to know me. When Fiona and I started hanging out in high school, everything just seemed…_right_, I guess. It felt so wonderful to have someone that actually _liked_ my quirks instead of just tolerating them."

"And that's how you knew?" he asked curiously.

"No." Imogen sat gathering her thoughts silently for a couple of seconds while she tried to pinpoint the exact moment she was looking for. "Do you remember how I told you my dad has Alzheimer's?" She waited for the boy to nod before she continued. "Well whenever his condition started to get pretty bad, he wrote me this letter. When he gave it to me, he told me to open it and read it if it ever got to the point where he needed to be put in a nursing home—about four years ago it got to that point." The girl fidgeted with her fingers, feeling awkward for talking about something so personal in such a disruptive location. "It was my first year at university—Fiona was in town from New York and we decided to have dinner at Dad's house. Turned out it was one of his bad days. He didn't recognize me at all and he started to act very hostile. We couldn't just leave because his caretaker had stepped out for a little while to run an errand." Her voice was becoming shaky as she recalled the events from that night.

The tall boy placed his hand on her fidgeting fingers. "Hey, you don't have to talk about this stuff if it's too much. Really, it's not a big deal," he whispered, but was loud enough to be heard through the soft-rock song that was playing.

"No, it's okay," Imogen continued, after letting a deep exhale escape her lungs. "But do you mind if we go talk about this outside? I can barely hear myself think in here." The boy nodded his head and picked up their waters as they began walking out.

The two found a quiet spot to talk in front of the building. The parking lot was full of cars, but devoid of people. Imogen leaned against the brick wall, letting all of her weight fall into it. "Anyway, he was acting crazy that night," she breathed, enduring her story. "We kept trying to calm him down, but it just made him more upset. Dad grabbed a pencil off of the desk in the living room and started waving it around, yelling at us to leave over and over again. When we didn't leave, he jabbed the pencil into his arm." The girl shook her head softly. "I ran outside…I just freaked, you know? I couldn't take it anymore."

"Well what happened with your dad?" His voice was sympathetic.

"I called the ambulance and sat on the front steps until I heard him finally stop yelling. When I walked back inside, I saw Fiona holding him on the couch. His arm was wrapped in a towel, and she was just sitting there, hugging him and whispering to him that it would all be okay." Imogen pushed a piece of hair behind her ear and stared down at her feet. "_That's_ when I knew." A small tear formed in her eye. "After we got Dad checked into the hospital, we went back home to the loft we were staying in at the time and I immediately found the letter he had given me and ripped it open. It was only twenty-two words long, but I carry them with me every day—'Go wherever makes you happy; Be whatever makes you happy; Love whoever makes you happy…Happiness is the only thing that matters.'" She then fixed her eyes on the boy's face. "I asked Fiona to marry me the very next day," she said, slightly slouching her body, "…and now I just pray that our wedding falls on one of his good days."

Dexter ran his fingers through his hair and then leaned beside Imogen on the wall. "Wow," he breathed. "That's pretty intense."

"Well you asked..." She crunched her brow. "Why did you want to know?"

The older boy let out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "I was in love with a girl once—thought she was 'the one'. Turns out she was 'the one' that slept with other guys whenever I was studying for exams."

"Ouch," the tan girl stated compassionately. She shifted her weight slightly, letting her head fall sideways against his shoulder. "Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, me too…Anyways, it just seems like you really love your girl—the way you always talk about her…I just think that's what it should be like. So I wanted to know how you knew. Maybe one day I'll have my own Fiona," he smiled, looking down into the dark brown eyes.

Imogen gave a small chuckle. "Good luck. Fiona Coynes are quite hard to come by." She interlocked her arm around his jacket sleeve and gave his leg a small, playful tap with her foot. The two stayed standing quietly against the brick wall, enjoying the cold air and their growing friendship. Imogen shut her eyes, still feeling slightly buzzed. As she rested her mind, she resumed counting the seconds until she would be able to drive home and hear her girlfriend's sassy voice again. It turned out that she would hear it a lot sooner than she expected.

"Immy?" The socialite stood looking at the two, her eyes riddled with confusion.

The young girl quickly propelled off of the wall, distancing herself from the boy. "Fiona! What are you doing here?" she asked, a tad apprehensive.

"Wow," Dexter whispered, giving a small nudge to the eccentric girl's arm. "She _really is _gorgeous."


	5. Chapter 5- Hello Heartache

**Chapter 5-** Hello Heartache

"Im, I've been trying to call you for the past hour. Why haven't you been answering your phone?" Fiona shifted her stare between her fiancée and the tall boy.

Imogen pulled her phone from her jacket and clicked at the top button. "I guess my phone died while I was in there. I'm sorry, I didn't know." She took a couple steps towards the older girl before noticing that the girl's blue eyes were on the verge of tears. "Fiona, I-"

"It's time to go," the socialite interrupted. "Come on."

There was an urgency in Fiona's voice. Imogen desperately hoped that the girl wasn't misinterpreting the situation between her and Dexter. "Okay, let's go." Imogen turned around and gave a slight wave to the boy who was still leaned against the brick wall. "See you in class," she mouthed, before turning back towards her girlfriend.

"See ya," he smiled.

Fiona outstretched her hand, waiting for Imogen to place her car keys in them. As soon as the younger girl complied, she changed her direction towards the car and began walking. Before getting too far, Fiona turned back around and looked at Dexter. "Are you going to be okay getting home? My cab might still be in the lot."

"I'll be okay," he assured. "Thanks, though."

Fiona responded with a slight nod and then the girls made their way to the car.

…

The young girl watched as the streetlights periodically illuminated her fiancée's face. They had been driving for over ten minutes, and neither of them had said a word. Her mind filled with worry as she saw lone tears fall from the girl's beautiful blue eyes. She finally worked up enough courage to reach for Fiona's hand and hold it between her own two. "Fiona, I swear to you that wasn't what it looked like. I know that this is going to sound so fake and cliché but it's the truth—we were only talking…talking about _us, _to be exact. About how much I love _you, _and how I knew you were the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with." Imogen's eyes remained on her girlfriend's face. Her heart was racing. She thought to herself about how this was the absolute worst way the girl's could be starting their two weeks together. "Please, Fiona. You have to believe me…I would never do that to you."

Fiona kept her eyes steady on the road. She began shaking her head from side to side as she wiped a tear from her cheek. "Imogen, I don't care about any of that." Her attention shifted as she gave her worried girlfriend a quick and compassionate glance before returning her sight forward. "I trust you more than anyone," she breathed.

"Well then why are you crying?" Imogen asked, perplexed, as she noticed them passing up their usual exit from the interstate. "And where are we going?"

The socialite calmly squeezed Imogen's warm hands and let out a deep breath. "Immy…it's your dad," her voice cracked. "There was an accident."

The quirky girl's stomach dropped as soon as she heard the words. She pulled her hands away from Fiona's secure grasp, keeping her eyes locked on the girl's profile. Her mind raced through all of the possible meanings to her girlfriend's statement, desperately trying to think of at least one that could have a positive connotation. She failed. "What kind of accident?" she breathed, as her small body numbed.

"I'm not sure of all the details. All I know is that he tripped down a set of stairs when he was trying to get away from his caretaker at the nursing home. Natalie said that it doesn't look good, Im. She's been at the hospital waiting for us to get there." Fiona placed her hand on her fiancée's leg, trying to comfort her. "I'm so sorry."

Imogen stared down at the hand resting on her thigh. Her lungs felt heavy—no matter how much her brain told them to breathe, they remained stubbornly still. She could feel her chest clenching down as she tried to force an inhale. Her head lightened as she gaped for air. Finally, she found panic breaths. "I feel like I'm suffocating." The younger girl pushed Fiona's hand off of her leg and then laid her head back into her seat, with her chest sporadically rising and falling.

Fiona quickly rolled down the car's windows, allowing the fresh air to flood in. "Imogen, no matter what happens, everything will be okay." She looked at her girlfriend, hoping to catch her gaze. Instead, the younger girl's eyes remained closed. "I'm here for you…_always_." She reached over with her hand, attempting to interlock their fingers, only to be rejected again.

"Please…just stop." The young girl's eyes began to release the tears they had been holding onto, as her breathing began to regulate. She opened her eyes and leaned her face into her arm against the window, watching the city fly by as their car accelerated. The rest of the ride was filled only with silence, as Imogen waited for whatever fate was lingering at the hospital.

…

"Where is he?" the tan girl demanded as her step quickened towards her mother.

"Imogen, you should sit down." The red head gave her daughter a tight hug and then pulled her over to a row of chairs.

Staring at her tired mother, the young girl prayed for any sliver of good news. "Can I please just go see him?" she begged desperately, not bothering to wipe her eyes.

Fiona remained standing off to the side watching, waiting to hear whatever verdict Natalie was preparing her young girlfriend for. It tore her up seeing Imogen so distraught and knowing that there was nothing she could do to fix the girl's situation. Her glacial blue eyes reflected her feelings of helplessness.

Natalie looked at the socialite and then back at her concerned daughter. "Before you go in there, you need to hear this so that you can be prepared." She sighed. "—your father's neck is broken, Imogen. They've done everything that they can, but his windpipe was crushed in his fall, compromising his breathing." She picked up the girl's small hands as she noticed them start to quiver. "This will be the last time you see him alive."

Imogen stared at her with empty eyes, shaking her head. "No, that doesn't make sense." Her voice was adamant. "If he's still alive, then there's got to be _something_ that they can do. Isn't that what you doctors do? Fix people when they hurt themselves?" She could feel the anger welling up inside her torso. "What the hell are you people even here for if you can't help?"

Stepping closer to her fiancée, Fiona rested her fingers upon the girl's petite shoulder. "Immy…" she said softly.

The eccentric girl rapidly stood up from her chair, shrugging away from her girlfriend's touch. "Fiona, stop. Just stop. Can you just leave me alone for five minutes?" her tone was harsh. The socialite's eyes shifted downward, her face dropping with her heart. The older girl nodded and took a couple steps backwards, finding an empty chair. Imogen refocused her attention back to her mom. "Where is he?"

Natalie glanced at Fiona's dejected expression. She reached over, giving a sympathetic pat to the girl's leg, briefly locking eyes with the fashionista before standing up and motioning for her daughter to follow her. "This way."

Imogen mirrored her mother's footsteps through the hallway. When they reached her father's room, Natalie gestured towards it. "Want me to go in with you?" the woman asked.

"No." She looked at her mom. "I need to do this alone." With that, the red head nodded and began making her way back to the waiting room. Imogen remained paused outside of the door, collecting her thoughts. She knew that after tonight her life would forever be different. This was the last time she would have a father. The possibility of her ever having her lucid dad again was gone—no chance of a cure being discovered for his dementia; no more Sunday crosswords; no more quesadilla nights; no more anything. Her mind was swamped with feelings of selfishness as she recalled all of the hours she spent praying for him to have _good_ days, when she should have just been praying for him to have any days at all. Imogen reached out her uneasy hand, feeling the cold doorknob beneath her grasp. Pushing the handle down, she opened the door and stepped into the room that would contain her father's last breaths.


	6. Chapter 6- Slipped Away

**Chapter 6-** Slipped Away

His face was relaxed and stationary, and still held onto its tan pigment. Her dad's latent hands remained slightly opened at his sides. As she grabbed onto one, Imogen thought about how if it weren't for the ventilator forcing his chest to rise and fall, then he would almost look somewhat peaceful and serene in there.

"Dad…I don't know if you can hear me or not…" she struggled to find words. "Please just wake up. I _need_ you." Imogen clenched tighter around his hand, desperately hoping to feel him reciprocate her grasp. She watched his eyelids, yearning to witness just an ounce of movement in them. "Just one squeeze…a look…_anything_." The young girl's mascara began to run more adamantly down her face as she peered at him with hopeless eyes and realized that all of her pleading would be futile. His mind was already gone and soon his body would follow suit.

"What am I supposed to do without you?" her voice broke. "You were supposed to be around for a long time! You always promised you would be!" She pressed her face against his hand, acknowledging her father's masculine scent. "—and now you're not…I can't believe _this_ is how it all ends—no walking me down the aisle; no cutting the turkey at every Christmas dinner; no spoiling your grandchildren; no future with you at all—just memories."

Imogen knelt down beside her motionless father's bed, allowing her elbows to rest on the sheets. She stared at him, trying to piece together everything that she wanted to tell her dad. There was so much that she wanted to say—an entire lifetime's worth—but she knew that time would only allow for so much. "Thank you—thank you for everything that you've done for me. Thank you for loving me with your whole heart, even when I was a complete grouch. Thank you for always putting my needs first. Thank you for raising me to be a young woman that isn't afraid to be herself, and for encouraging me to do what I love." The desolate girl exhaled deeply before continuing. "I'm going to miss you more than anything. _You _were my first love…and now my heart just feels shattered." Her eyes fell to the shiny ring that was wrapped around her finger. It suddenly felt incredibly heavy and looked like nothing more than an excessively expensive piece of jewelry. Meaningless. "I don't know how I'll ever get over this," she breathed to her father.

Her palm caressed his chin, feeling the stubble that remained on his face. The girl's fragile fingers then pushed back the dark grey hair on his head, smoothing away all of the imperfections. Dense tears fell onto his shoulder as she lowered her head down and kissed him one last time on the cheek before whispering softly into his ear, "I'll always be your princess."

…

Walking back into the waiting room, Imogen took notice of the family that she had left— her mother's eyes were staring down at the large purse in her lap as she breathed rhythmically, appearing aged and exhausted; Two seats away, Fiona was resting her head on her arm that was propped against the mint-green chair, allowing her dark curls to hang past her elbow—these were the two people that were now supposed to be the most important in her life…but something felt different—empty.

"So what happens now?" Imogen asked, alerting both her mother and fiancée of her presence. They met her gaze with compassionate eyes.

Natalie stood up and began closing the distance between herself and the young girl. Keeping her voice calm, she explained what would happen next. "Whenever you're ready, his doctor will turn off the life-support machines that are keeping him alive. It will take anywhere from a couple of seconds to a few minutes for him to pass." The red head noticed her daughter's confused and solemn expression.  
>"Imogen, I just want to make sure you know that he no longer has any sign of brain activity. His neck is broken, and his body cannot breathe on its own. All the machines are doing is prolonging something that would have already happened naturally. Do you understand?"<p>

The young girl nodded her head, fixating her stare to the floor. She wasn't ready for this. It didn't feel real. "Can I…can I just have a few minutes?" she quavered. "I just need some fresh air."

"Of course. Take your time." Natalie gently rubbed Imogen's dangling arm and then returned to her seat.

"Do you want me to come outside with you?" Fiona's voice was timid and cautious. Her blue irises were searching her girlfriend's face for any kind of an indication on what she could possibly do to help.

Not wanting her fiancée to see the enormous void that now resided in her own brown eyes, Imogen kept her focus to the floor and stoically shook her head from side to side, causing the socialite to lean her weight back into the uncomfortable chair. As she caught another glimmer of the ring on her hand, she sighed and then made her way towards the large glass doors.

…

It was chilly outside, and the girl wished that she had grabbed her jacket off of the chair before walking out of the hospital. She contemplated going back in to get it, but decided not to because she didn't want to chance any more forced conversations with her mom or Fiona. Imogen found a cement bench near the sidewalk and lowered her weight onto it. The front of the bench had a small inscription—_In memory of Robert Holtz_. She briefly wondered what happened to him and if he had left behind a family in his departure…a daughter, perhaps. _Was she ever able find happiness again?_

The cars on the street passed by quickly—in her vision one second and then gone the next…She watched them mindlessly as the quiet breeze tinged her face. Her eyes were already raw from tears, so the young girl was glad that her ducts appeared to be completely drained of them. Her right hand slowly removed the diamond ring from her left hand and placed it at her side with a small clinking sound. Having it off allowed her to breathe more easily.

Imogen's mind played over all of the events of her day—going to class, getting her graduation approval, being surprised with her favorite cheesecake by her favorite person, and the start of their wedding plans; Her time with Dexter and how coincidental it was that she was talking to him about her dad and Fiona mere minutes before she heard of her dad's accident. And now she had to make the decision to take away the only thing keeping her father alive—the one person that she could always rely on growing up, especially when she had no friends and an absentee mother. Losing him made all of the stuff that had made her happy that day seem so miniscule—so unimportant. It was _just_ cheesecake; _just _a degree; _just_ a wedding. _Does any of it really even matter? _The struggling girl placed her head into her hands, supported by the elbows on her lap._ What's the point of even caring? Everything is just temporary. Fleeting—a car passing on the street. _

The night's silence was broken by an ambulance's siren as it pulled up to the building. _Another disaster_, she realized. Cold air stabbed her lungs and then escaped from her mouth in a cloud of warm vapor. Three more cars passed by before she finally lifted from the bench. As her legs began to step forward, she remembered the thing she had left lingering on the bench—the thing that was now weighed down with feelings she wasn't even sure she could have anymore…or that she even _wanted_ anymore. She picked up the tainted ring and let it fall into her pants' pocket. Reluctantly, the girl stepped towards the glass doors as she prepared herself to inform her mother that it was time.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry this chapter took me a little while to publish-I really had to get my head into the right mindset for it. Hope everyone is still enjoying the story; will update soon...**


	7. Chapter 7- Tomorrow

**Chapter 7-** Tomorrow

Fiona crossed the threshold into the girls' house and set their purses on the kitchen island. Her blue eyes followed the young girl as she passed by and entered their living room. After plugging her fiancée's phone into the wall charger, she retrieved her own and responded to the many messages that were awaiting her attention. The socialite then fixed her gaze on the living room's entryway as she contemplated whether or not she should go in. Any attempts she had made to comfort the other girl had been rejected. It was obvious Imogen that wanted to be left alone…but she also didn't want to stop trying.

Hesitantly, her tall heels moved forward, nervous that she was only going to upset her heartbroken girlfriend even more. "Do you need me to do anything?" she asked as she approached the occupied couch.

Pushing her head further into the cushion of the sofa's arm, Imogen let her tears begin sinking into the fabric. "No," her voice choked. She felt her small body being draped with their large throw blanket.

"Okay, just checking," Fiona whispered while fixing the blanket over her fiancée. "I talked to Eli and Becky…they are both going to come back to Toronto as soon as they can get flights. Is that all right? They really wanted to be here for you."

The young girl inhaled deeply through her nose as she was reminded of the thick cigarette smell that was entrapped in her hair. "I need to shower," she sighed, brushing off her girlfriend's question. She pushed herself up from the couch, letting the blanket fall to the floor. As her legs started towards the stairs, Fiona gently caught her tan arm and turned her body around so that they were facing each other. "What is it?" Imogen's fatigued voice questioned.

"I just…" The curly haired brunette peered into her girlfriend's unrecognizably haunted eyes—the innocence, brightness, and trust that she had admired in them earlier that afternoon was now nowhere to be found. She wanted so badly to envelop the other girl in a tight hug, and to convince her that eventually she would start to feel better…that the pain was only temporary and that there was so much happiness still to come in the young girl's life. But she knew there was nothing she could possibly say that was powerful enough to mend a shattered heart—only time would have a chance at healing that devastating wound. So the socialite settled for the next best thing—"I love you," she breathed.

Imogen stared at the other girl for a few enormously long seconds; her brain was begging her to repeat the three tiny words back to her fiancée—words that were normally said so easily that it was usually reflexive. However, this time they felt strange… deceiving. It was as if she were trying to water a rose with an empty watering-can—there was nothing left inside of her heart to give, and she wondered to herself how long it would take for her delicate flower to wither away. Responding with a wordless nod, the broken girl set her pace to the shower, ready to wash away the residue from the worst night of her life.

…

Imogen exited the shower as soon as the smoky stench was no longer noticeable. She caught her smeared reflection in the foggy mirror. Even through the steam, she could tell that her face appeared worn and lifeless. Her hand reached for her toothbrush as she commenced getting ready for her sure-to-be restless night. As she entered the bedroom, Imogen lifted her towel-wrapped head to find the socialite grabbing a couple of pillows from their large bed.

Fiona greeted her with a compassionate grin. "I'll take the couch…I know you probably want your space." The older girl motioned towards the nightstand. "I made you some tea and soup if you want it. I didn't know if you had the chance to eat anything tonight or not," she stated with a shrug.

"I just brushed my teeth." Imogen returned her glasses to her face, seeing more clearly Fiona's helpless demeanor. "Sorry."

Tucking the pillows under one of her arms, her free hand lifted the food tray off of the nightstand. "It's okay." Her voice was warm. "I'll just go put these in the fridge in case you get hungry later or something."

The young girl laid down onto the bed and watched as her fiancée began to step out of the room—the first time all evening that it was _someone else_ doing the walking-away. Her stomach gave a small, uncomfortable churn. "Fiona-"

"Yeah?" The socialite paused and looked back at the girl she loved, thankful to hear anything from her at all.

"Goodnight…"

Before using her elbow to turn the light switch off, Fiona soaked up the other girl's small phrase and replied with her own "Goodnight, Immy."

The big pillow shaped beneath Imogen's head as she listened to clacking heels descending upon the stairs. Her gaze shifted over to her alarm clock, which displayed the time 3:08 AM on it's surface. After she flipped her body back over, she stared at the absence on Fiona's side of the bed. Her mind was hit with the realization that this was the very first night the huge bed didn't feel empty without the socialite's presence—and that terrified her. Her fingers grazed over the spot on her left hand that was currently two carats lighter. She pleaded with her heart to feel something again…_anything._ Desperately, she tried to recall her favorite memories with Fiona—the Ferris wheel; their loft adventures; the numerous vacations they had taken together—but it was all so distant. She had changed. _Everything _had changed.

An hour and a half passed and Imogen was no closer to drifting into sleep. Her entire being was too busy yearning for yesterday—yesterday she had a father; yesterday she was completely enamored with her fiancée; yesterday she was happy. But yesterday was gone. And today she was left lying alone in a bed, feeling completely hopeless and detached, dreading tomorrow—tomorrow she would have to plan her father's funeral; tomorrow she would struggle to feel anything for the girl she had chosen to make her life with; tomorrow she would be miserable.


	8. Chapter 8- Don't Tell Me

**Chapter 8-** Don't Tell Me

Fiona steered the small car into their driveway and then turned off its ignition, hating the silence that had recently become all too routine in the girls' relationship. As the younger girl pulled her fingers on the handle and cracked open the car door, the socialite quickly reached her slender arm over, delicately catching a tan thigh before it could lift from the seat. Seconds passed as her brain caught up to her heart. "The service was really beautiful, Im… The songs that you picked out for your dad were perfect."

Imogen's gaze remained focused on the freedom outside of the window as she continued gripping her hand on the lever of her escape. "Can you let go of me, please? I should go change out of my dress."

Removing her hand from the other girl's leg, Fiona ran her manicured fingers through her long dark curls and let out a frustrated exhale. "That's the most you've said to me in the past _four days_, Imogen. Why won't you just _talk_ to me?"

Brown eyes turned to fixate on the dashboard, lingering in the quiet vehicle. "I don't have anything to say," she said softly, before nudging the door fully open and placing her bare feet on the hard concrete. As she stepped inside of the house with her black heels in hand, familiar tears began to stream down her cheek. The young girl let her shoes fall to the floor and then pressed on up the stairs until she was in the privacy of their secluded bathroom. The door shut behind her as she leaned her frail figure against it, sliding down until her legs were folded underneath her body on the cold, white floor tiles.

A light knock soon sounded against the other side of the wooden door. "I'm sorry…" As the socialite stood there waiting, her mind raced, leaving her unsure of what to say. "I…I didn't mean to upset you." Looking down, she could see the light blocked through the threshold, indicating where her girlfriend was sitting. "Can I come in?" she whispered, already knowing what the answer would be.

"Fiona, I really just want-"

"To be left alone. Yeah, I figured…" After sitting down on the other side of the door, Fiona leaned her head back, taking in some comfort that there was only an inch of wood between the two girls. It was the closest they had sat next to each other in days. Her pale fingers reached inside of her small handbag and retrieved something that she had been keeping close by since she found it. " So I was doing laundry Sunday, and this fell out of your pocket whenever I picked up your pants," she said, while sliding her fiancée's ring through the space underneath the door. "Why haven't you been wearing it?"

With each clinking noise the shimmering ring made as it moved across the tile, a shudder went up Imogen's spine. She watched as it settled by her side. Her breathing now seemed loud in the blatant quietness. "It felt heavy…"

"Heavy? Well we can get you a different ring, Immy. A smaller one just like that if you want—I know how much you love that design. Whenever you're ready we can go pick-"

"Fiona," the fragile girl interrupted, "it's not _the ring_ that feels heavy… It's _us._"

As the words entered the socialite's ears, her eyes fell to the floor along with her bruised heart. "Open the door." Her request was stated more adamantly this time, forcing Imogen to relinquish. Slowly she lifted her hand and turned the knob as she scooted to the side, granting the other girl enough space to walk in. As the elevated heels entered the room, they accidentally kicked the diamond ring, sending it skating into the side of the ceramic bathtub.

Holding her stare on the stagnant ring that was now on the other side of the room, the young girl momentarily contemplated if she should retrieve it, or just leave it at a distance—where the rest of her feelings were. Before her mind had time to decide, Fiona walked towards the tub, picked up the ring, and then sat down beside her girlfriend on the uncomfortable floor.

"I don't know what to do." The socialite slipped off her heels and placed them next to her. As she leaned her back against the wall, her arm grazed the other girl's tan one and Fiona couldn't help but notice how warmed it felt against her own—something she had missed terribly. "I'm so worried about you. You're hardly speaking, you've barely eaten anything in the past four days, you insist on being by yourself all of the time, and I know you're not sleeping—I can hear you crying while I'm laying on the couch." She searched the girl's solemn face for any kind of reaction. "I know how hard this has all been for you…but this isn't healthy. I mean you can't survive on a handful of grapes per day."

Imogen found herself growing annoyed with her fiancée's persistence to converse. "I'm not hungry," she enunciated.

"I don't care if you're not hungry—you _have_ to eat! You have to talk, and to sleep, and to take care of yourself, and to—Immy, just look at me," she pleaded desperately as she gently turned the girl's face to look at her own.

Jerking her head away, Imogen stood up frustrated. "I don't _want_ to look at you, Fiona! I don't _want_ to talk to you. I just want you to leave me alone! I've been so clear about this, but still you pry and you pry and I can't take it anymore…"  
>The fashionista rose to meet the tan girl's height. "What are you saying?" Her chest gave a hard pound each second she awaited what might be said next.<p>

"Maybe you should go back to New York," Imogen murmured, feeling terrified as the words escaped from her own mouth. "We could just take some time apart for a little while, and then see where we stand later…"

While shaking her head firmly, Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am not going back to New York." Her tone was stern. "I'm not leaving you."

"But I don't want you here!" the heartbroken girl cried, dropping her face into her palms.

Long beats passed as the socialite stood silently, watching her girlfriend's frantic breaths. She reached out and pulled the girl's hands away from her face, revealing her smudged eyes. "I'm _not_ leaving. This is my house too, not just yours."

"But-"

"No buts," the curly brunette interjected. "You want me to leave you alone? Fine. I'll leave you alone… but not until after you eat something. _Anything_. I don't care what. If I have to drive three hours to get it or if I have to learn how to cook it from a YouTube video, I will. _You're going to eat. _So decide what you want."

Imogen lifted her tired eyes up to see Fiona's strict demeanor. "I eat and you _promise_ you'll leave me alone?"

As the fashionista opened her mouth to speak, the doorbell rang from downstairs. She looked towards the hallway quizzically before finishing her thought. "I promise."

"Okay," the younger girl agreed.

"Good. Think about what you want for dinner; I'll go see who's at the door," she said, slipping her heels back onto her feet. "Oh and this?" Fiona held the gleaming ring up in front of her fiancée's face. "I'm going to hold onto this. Whenever you're ready for it back, let me know." Her body moved past the other girl, as she started towards the hall.

"What if I'm never ready?" Imogen whispered under her breath.

The older girl turned around, locking their eyes as the faint words reached her ears. "Well then I guess I'll be holding onto it forever," she answered, while desperately praying that she wouldn't have to. Her attention then shifted when the doorbell rang a second time.

Imogen watched as her girlfriend hastened away to answer the door, before allowing her mind to drift through all of the food choices she could think of. _If I'm going to be forced to eat, it may as well be something delicious_, she thought to herself as she wiped away her smeared mascara and exited the deserted bathroom.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry it took longer than normal for me to update-I had three exams at university this week, so I spent the majority of my time studying. Hope everyone enjoys the chapter. I don't have any tests next week, so I should be able to get back to writing at my normal pace :)**


	9. Chapter 9- Hush Hush

**Chapter 9-** Hush Hush

Imogen sat on the large bed in close enough proximity to her purse so that she could pull her phone out of it. Upon checking it, she found that her inbox had been flooded with texts from numerous people that were either complimenting her father's funeral or wishing her well. Her tan fingers quickly deleted all of the messages and then clicked the top button, sending her phone back into hibernation. As she heard the front door open downstairs, she perked up her ears. She was curious to find out who had stopped by, but dreading the possibility of having to socialize.

The voice was hard to distinguish due to being distorted from the distance, but the young girl could tell it was coming from a boy. Her scrawny arms pushed upwards from the bed as she decided to move closer to the conversation. Sitting quietly in the middle of the stairwell, the dialogue was much clearer and decipherable. Immediately, Imogen was able to put a face to their mystery guest.

…

"Can I get you anything? Water? Soda? Some scissors so that you can trim that mop on your head?" the socialite said with a small laugh.

"Hmm…just a soda for now, thanks." Pulling out a stool, Eli took a seat at the kitchen island. "So how has she been? She didn't seem very 'Imogeny' at the service today," he accompanied with finger-quotes.

Fiona shut the door to the refrigerator and shot a defensive look towards the boy. "She just lost her dad, what do you expect?"

"True," he sighed, before popping open the can and taking a sip "What about you? How have _you_ been?" His green eyes followed the older girl as she took her seat across from him and rested her head inside of her propped up palms.

Her shoulders lifted with a feminine shrug. "I'm so lost as to what I'm supposed to do for her. She doesn't talk to me about anything. She just stays up in her room all day, sleeping and crying...which is more than likely what she's doing right now."

With a furrowed brow and squinted eyes, the boy questioned, "_Her_ room?"

"_Our_ room," she corrected. The girl adjusted her body in the tall chair as she moved her dark curls to the other side of her neck. "Though, I mostly reside on the couch these days."

Eli cracked a crooked smile. "Not even married yet and you're already banished to the couch." Her body swayed as he jokingly nudged her shoulder with his hand.

Letting out a scoff, the socialite nudged him back. "Yeah, yeah, you crack your jokes, Goldsworthy. Your relationship isn't exactly all _joie de vivre_ either. Or your 'non-relationship', I should say, since you currently live with _me_."

"Touché," he surrendered as a goofy, overdramatic frown formed on his face. "It's not my fault that Clare doesn't always appreciate the demanding hours that come with being an aspiring playwright… She always comes back, though. Guess she just can't stay away from her handsome prince," the boy pointed his thumbs towards his chest.

Fiona countered with a giant eye roll. "You're such a dork." Her hand reached across for his empty soda-can while she lifted from the chair to throw it away. The boy mouthed her a courteous 'thank you'. "So how long are you staying in town for?" she asked, while dropping the aluminum into the trash and returning to her seat.

"A couple more days. I tried to take off until next Monday, but they need me back before then. What about you?"

The socialite gave a deep exhale. "Soooo, I've been thinking…" her fingernails tapped against the countertop as her eyes moved around the room. "…what if I didn't go back? What if I stayed here?"

Eli jerked his head back, looking at her doubtfully. "Um, what about your job? You could do it from Toronto?"

"Obviously not," she stated brashly. "I'd have to quit. I mean, I have more than enough to live off of in my trust fund. And eventually I'd find another job…I just can't see leaving her after all of this…" her voice trailed.

The young boy placed his hand on top of her tapping fingernails, catching her eyes with his own. "But you love your job," he said sympathetically.

"Yeah…but I love _her_ more. And she needs me…even if she doesn't realize it right now." Her phone buzzed on the surface of the island while it vibrated. She picked it up and grinned. "Well, I've been given my orders," she said, flashing the screen towards Eli so that he could read it.

6:37 PM- _Sushi-nothing with crab._

"I'm going to run and pick some up. I'll get enough for all of us. Do you mind staying? I really don't want to leave her by herself."

"Of course I don't mind." He loosened the black tie from around his neck and rose from his chair. "Did I not mention that the Goldsworthys are excellent babysitters? Our little Imo will be in fantastic hands. Heck, I'll probably have her singing upbeat songs around a campfire by the time you get back."

"I'd be impressed if you could even get her to speak, let alone sing," she admitted truthfully.

The girl's somber tone unsettled the boy. He looked at his best friend's defeated appearance and felt his heart drop for her unfortunate situation. For the first time that evening, he realized how much fear inhabited her icy blue eyes. "Hey," his voice was now comforting as he moved closer and softly patted her back, "it's going to be okay, you know? She's still in there somewhere. We just have to get _her_ to realize that."

Fiona looked at him appreciatively, slightly nodding her head as she wiped a tear. "Easier said than done." Her legs scooted the stool backwards and propelled her body up from the seat. She grabbed the car keys out of her bag and began walking towards the house's exit.

"Fiona," the boy interposed as her hand reached for the silver knob, "extra soy sauce?"

The socialite turned around and pretended to think about it. "Hmm…I suppose that can be arranged…IF you deliver on those campfire songs," she smiled.

"I'll try my absolute best," he assured, as she changed her direction and made her way to the driveway.

…

After hearing the door close, Imogen lifted her swollen face from her tear-covered knees and began to raise herself off of the stair. As her weight shifted, the wood beneath her feet creaked. She hesitated, hoping the noise would go unnoticed so that she could return to the privacy of her bedroom. Luck, however, was not on her side lately.

"Imogen?" The boy's inquisitive voice asked as he was walking into their living room. "Is that you?"

"Great," she whispered to herself, hating that she had even put herself in this situation. _If only I would have stayed in the damn room_. Overwhelmed, she let her head fall against the textured wall and lowered her bottom back to the uncomfortable stair. "Yeah, it's me," her voice quivered as she broke down.

Eli ran up each step until he saw the girl crying into her black dress. He sat beside her and pulled her fragile body into his embrace, not the least bit concerned about the mascara that was staining his white shirt. "You're going to be okay," he breathed. "Just let it out."


	10. Chapter 10- Freak Out

**Chapter 10-** Freak Out

Eli rubbed his hand softly on the top of the girl's back as she pressed her face into his now-damp shoulder. "Hey, let's go get you changed, okay? Comfy clothes?" She answered him with a half-nod as he helped her to her uneasy feet and guided her up the rest of the stairs and into the girls' bedroom. After leading her to the bed, the boy walked over to their closet and opened its door to reveal a huge assortment of outfits. "Wow," he looked back at Imogen with a white smile, "I think this may be bigger than my dorm room was at NYU."

"Fiona wanted the house to have a large closet," she answered unemotionally.

"Should have known," Eli laughed, shaking his head from side to side. "That girl and her clothes—such a diva!" Still looking at the girl, he saw her gaze drop to the floor as her face held a resigned expression. His grin quickly faded away when his mind finally began to realize just how drastically adrift his quirky friend was. "Right…so outfits…" Shifting through the hanging garments, he pulled out the first comfortable looking item that he saw. "What about this?"

Imogen lifted her eyes to see the black sweatshirt with pink lettering that she had worn so many times hanging from the boy's outstretched hand; it was cruelly taunting her with all of the emotions she used to be able to feel. Just dangling there, it filled her head with enormous frustration and pressure—pressure to put on the sweatshirt; pressure to pretend that nothing horrible had happened; pressure to be the happy-go-lucky girl that everyone expected her to be. As her frustration shifted into anger, the girl pushed herself up off of the bed and snatched the shirt from the Eli's grasp. "No. Not this one."

Confused, his green eyes followed the girl as she stormed into the bathroom holding the black garment. He heard drawers being slid open and slammed shut from inside the tiled room and soon followed to see what was going on. "Imo? Whatcha doing?" The young girl turned around, startled by his voice. His eyes widened as he saw the silver scissors in her small hands ripping into the fabric.

"I am so sick of everyone trying to make me feel better!" The blades continued shredding the sweatshirt, slicing through each pink letter until it was unrecognizable. "My father is dead! I can't feel better!" her voice was frantic. The scissors shook in her trembling hands.

Eli moved cautiously towards the girl until he was close enough to maneuver the shears from her locked fingers. He placed them to the side of the sink as he pulled the mutilated shirt away from Imogen's possession and tossed it to the floor. Seeing the pain welling up in her chocolate brown eyes again, he drew her into a tight hug, holding her until her scattered breaths evened out. Upon her release, he offered up his long sleeve for her to wipe her drizzled face.

Accepting his offer, the distraught girl dabbed the white sleeve to her tan cheek and dispelled the anxiety in her chest through deep exhales. "Thanks," she whispered as she calmed herself. "Sorry."

"No need for apologies. But maybe an explanation?" he asked, signaling towards the tattered item on the floor.

Imogen shook her head in agreement as she walked out of the bathroom and propped herself up on the bed, waiting for her lanky friend to join. As he sat down on Fiona's side, the young girl's heart gave a tiny tug and briefly—very briefly—the bed felt empty.

"So the sweatshirt?" His voice broke through the silence.

Looking up to the ceiling, she let her emotionally heavy head settle deep into the pillow. "Fiona's."

"and we are mad at Fiona because…?" Eli's face changed into a perplexed expression as he watched her gaze continue to wander above. He nudged her with his arm, impatiently waiting for her response.

"I'm not mad at Fiona…I'm not _anything_ at Fiona," she breathed, turning her head left to face the boy. "It's like every time I'm around her, I'm just a shell of who I was. I can _remember_ how I felt; I just can't actually _feel_ it. Instead, I look at her and I see all of the things my dad won't be here for."

He stared at her compassionately, as one side of his mouth drooped. "All of your feelings for her are still in there," his index finger pointed towards her heart. "They're just buried under a lot of crap right now. What you two have doesn't just disappear."

"You know what's kind of messed up? My dad _could_ have been at our wedding if she didn't want to wait so long to get married. I mean what kind of engagement lasts for four years?"

The boy started to feel uncomfortable as he realized where this conversation could be going. "You can't blame her for your dad not being at your wedding, Im. She couldn't have seen anything like this coming."

"Yeah, I know…" Imogen refocused her eyes back up to the ceiling as the gears in her mind began to turn. "Actually, no. Even if she couldn't have expected anything like _this_ to happen, she still knew how he was. She knew his mind was falling apart little-by-little each day. Why the wait?"

"I don't know." Shrugging his shoulders, Eli adjusted his position on the bed and crossed one foot over the other. "…Have you tried asking _her_? I'm sure she had her reasons."

She shook her head gently. "I don't want to ask her about it. It would probably just make her feel guilty or whatever."

The words entered his ear and immediately triggered his brain. "Imogen, listen to yourself—You don't want to make her feel guilty…" his mouth widened into a large smile and she looked at him confused. "—You_ still care_ about how she feels," the boy insinuated, while sending a playful poke to her tan arm. "There's a little life in you yet, Moreno." Eli searched her face for any glimmer of optimism. His brow began to furrow as he realized Imogen's expression was determined to remain unaffected.

"I want Fiona to go back to New York," Imogen blurted, ignoring her friend's hopeful observation. "I just need some space from everything… You need to convince her not to quit her job." She rose from the bed and crossed the room until she reached their open closet, leaving the Eli to stare at her speechlessly. After pulling out a t-shirt and some pants, Imogen walked back into the bathroom to finally change out of her black, tear-soaked dress.


	11. Chapter 11- Not Enough

**Chapter 11-** Not Enough

Walking back into the bedroom, Imogen saw the boy now sitting at the edge of the mattress, dangling his lengthy feet over the carpeted floor. His shoulders were hunched awkwardly as he fidgeted with his thumbs. She went to the mahogany dresser that was positioned against the burgundy-painted wall, pulled out a pair of green socks, and then took her seat beside him, waiting to hear whatever it was that Eli was so apprehensive to say.

"I'm not going to tell her to go back to New York." He looked up at the girl with conflicted eyes. "If you want her to go back so badly then _you_ tell her."

"I tried! She said it's her house too, and that she wasn't going to leave." Her arm gave a firm tug to the sock, securing it tightly onto her left foot. "How am I supposed to persuade her to go?"

Eli shook his head, feeling incredibly sympathetic for Fiona. His mind hovered on how the socialite was so determined to alter her entire life for this girl that she had chosen to devote her enormous heart to. "Why are you trying so hard to push her away? She's the one person who has continuously been there for you through everything and now you just want to throw that all in the garbage?"

Shocked by his voice's sudden shift in tone, Imogen shot him a hostile look. "Everything is different now…so much has changed."

"How is everything different?" he asked, truly interested in hearing the girl's response. "I just don't understand how everything you've built since you were in _high school_ can suddenly be completely different in less than a week's time. I get it—you lost your dad and that sucks _so much_—no one should have to feel that kind of pain at your age… But you haven't lost _everything_. All of the plans that you had with Fiona are still possible! You can still have the same future that you were planning to have five days ago, before everything happened."

Imogen stood up from the bed, putting some space in between her and the boy. She could feel her irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "What does it even matter to you? If I changed my mind, then I changed my mind. I'm an adult; I'm allowed to break up with someone... Not all relationships are meant to last forever."

The anxious boy drew his head back. "Wow…so now you want to break up?"

As her heart skipped a beat, Imogen realized what she had said. The finite words had slipped out of her reckless mouth. She hated herself for verbalizing them, and hated even more that she wasn't sure if she had meant them. "I don't know…" her troubled voice drifted.

Eli released a nervous exhale. "You _really _need to talk to Fiona." After standing up, he minimized the distance between himself and the girl. He looked into her brown eyes, desperately trying to find a recognizable sliver of one of his oldest friends, however, it was extraordinarily hard to see past all of the agony and apathy that was shielding her sight. "Look…you two are my absolute best friends. You guys are the ones that have been there through my best times and helped me through my worst times—I love you both more than anything, and no matter what happens, I'll always be there for the both of you…whether that's together, or apart." His hands reached for hers as he grabbed them and held her gaze. "But let me say this—you need to be very careful how much distance you put between yourself and Fiona, because you don't want to get lost whenever you decide that it's time to find your way back home."

Imogen continued staring at him as the evocative words sank in. She removed her hands from his loose grip and listened to her pulse throb inside of her tired head. Her legs felt like twigs, trying to support a brittle body. Lowering herself back onto the cushioned bed, she allowed her mind interrogation of her mosaic heart.

As the front door loudly shut downstairs, Eli's eyes shifted towards the hall and then back to the introverted girl. "_Tonight_… You talk to her _tonight_," he stipulated.

She nodded her head, hearing the familiar clacking of heels upon the wooden stairwell. Dreading the night's unavoidable conversation, she pushed a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear and awaited her fiancée's appearance.

"Hey, you two," the socialite smiled, entering the bedroom. "Downstairs we have an extravagant selection of Spicy Tuna, Eel and Avacodo, Dragon, Tiger, and of course, the New York roll. Certainly there's _something_ in there that you both like?" she asked optimistically.

Eli focused his attention towards the radiant girl. "You already know I'll eat anything. What about the soy sauce situation?"

Rolling her blue eyes, Fiona interlocked her arm into the dark-haired boy's. "_Mangez bien_," she encouraged while pulling him out into the hall. "You coming?" she inquired, with her head turned towards Imogen.

"Yeah, we have a deal, don't we?" the young girl asked rhetorically as she followed the two down the stairs and into the kitchen.

…

"Ugh, remind me again why crab wasn't allowed?" the socialite asked after swallowing a bite of the Eel and Avocado roll. "This tastes like feet."

Eli swirled his chopsticks around, letting the rice dip into the brown, salty liquid. "That would be per the request of this one," he answered, gesturing towards Imogen. "Thankfully, with enough soy sauce _everything_ can taste like crab," he laughed, guiding the large bit of food into his mouth.

Imogen observed his theatrics and shook her head. "I was told to pick whatever I wanted… sorry that what I wanted was _such_ an inconvenience to you both," she stated sardonically.

The socialite scooted her plate away on the table, and looked over at her girlfriend. "Im, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just glad that you're finally eating something." She reached her pale hand over to pat the other girl's, and then quickly withdrew it in fear of being rejected. Looking over at Eli, whose mouth was full while chewing the raw fish, she asked, "Anything in particular you wish to do tonight, Mr. Goldsworthy?"

The boy's throat shifted in a deep swallow before his green eyes relocated to Imogen and then the socialite. "Umm…movie?" he hesitated, looking back at the younger girl.

"I'll probably just go to bed after this," she answered, lifting her glass of juice to her mouth.

"What about you?" he asked, now fixated on Fiona.

The older girl rose from her seat, picking up her half empty plate to dispose of it. "I could go for a movie night," she answered. "Something in particular you have in mind?"

Eli cocked his head to the side and contemplated his viewing options. "Hmm… Anything with Olivia Wilde will do."

Hearing the boy's request, Imogen choked on her fruity drink, as some burned the back of her nostrils. "Wow, you two have been living together for _way too long,_" she chortled under her breath, not even noticing her own sudden amusement as she continued picking at her food.

Both Fiona and Eli's eyes darted over to the girl upon hearing her tiny laugh. They were stunned to see a smile dwelling on her face. The boy then looked at the socialite and gave a small wink.

Fiona felt her heart flourish at her fiancée's fleeting moment of happiness. She knew that it would soon fade, but she was convinced that it was the beginning of the young girl's long journey to recovery. "You sure that you don't want to watch with us?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," the eccentric girl verified, now impassive. "Eli, if you're too tired after the movie, you're more than welcome to crash here."

The fashionista bumped her foot against her friend's. "Yeah, we could always do feet-to-head on the couch," she teased. "Or I could take the love seat?"

Staring at the empty plate on the table, Imogen couldn't help but relate to the blank glass. She placed her chopsticks down in front of her napkin and then looked over at her curly haired girlfriend. "Or you could sleep upstairs… If you wanted to…?"


	12. Chapter 12- Fall to Pieces

**Chapter 12-** Fall to Pieces

"No matter how many times I watch this movie, it still blows my mind how Joaquin Phoenix can choose a computer over Olivia Wilde. I truly don't get men," she laughed. Hearing no response from her charismatic friend, she looked towards the couch to find him with closed eyes and a gaping mouth. Grabbing her phone from the coffee table, the curly brunette checked the time. "Wow, only 8:45…You disappoint New Yorkers everywhere, Mr. Goldsworthy," she whispered as she pulled a blanket over his resting body.

Not wanting to risk waking up her fiancée, the socialite removed her high heels and crept up the staircase, very careful to avoid any creaks. Her delicate hand guided through the dark closet until she felt one of her silk pajama sets and quietly removed it from the hanger. As her feet began to tiptoe towards the bathroom, she heard the bed shift behind her.

"What are you doing?" The young girl asked as she sat up on the bed and clicked on a small lamp.

Fiona turned around to face her. "Sorry, did I wake you? I was just going to take a shower and was trying not-"

"I wasn't asleep…" Imogen interrupted.

"Oh…" the room fell silent. The fashionista looked at her girlfriend's puzzling face, trying to decipher what was going on inside of the girl's mysterious head. The dark brown eyes looked nervous. "Look, I don't have to sleep in here. Seriously, I can sleep on the couch in the office room or something. I don't mind, and I promised that I would leave you alone. You came through on your end of the deal, so I'm going to come through on mine too. So I understand…" she rambled.

Imogen watched as the other girl continued her long-winded speech. It was overwhelming to hear so many words flying out of the girl's mouth at such a fast rate. She wanted to retreat—to renege on the offer she had made, so that she could get back to the safety of her solitude…but she knew that a conversation with Fiona was long over-due, and that they needed to have it before the girl had a chance to quit her job. "It's okay…" her voice was soft. "You can sleep in here. I mean, it's your house too, as you've pointed out…"

"Im, when I said that—I didn't mean that I was going to do whatever I want and disregard whatever you want. I'm just _worried_ about you, and want to stay close-by so that I can keep an eye on you…even if it _is_ from the couch."

"Fiona…" the tan girl enunciated with a hint of annoyance evident in her tone, "Go shower." Nodding her head in submission, her fiancée walked into the bathroom and closed the door. As she heard the water turn on, Imogen rolled back onto her side to return to her trailing thoughts. Reaching over to turn off the light, her dainty platinum bracelet clinked against the metal lamp, sending a small shock to Imogen's ears. Her eyes hovered on the small piece of jewelry as her mind wondered how she could have gone through the past few days without even remembering that it was on her wrist, especially when her ring had been such an obvious discomfort. The first half of inscription played through her head—_Soul mates yesterday, today, and tomorrow._

Immediately, the young girl's already-broken heart cracked just a little further. She questioned how it was possible that she could now feel nothing for the person that had gifted her with those perfect words all those years ago? What a cruel joke the universe was playing on her to rip away her father _and_ her soul mate in one tragic twist of fate—to lose the man that had given her life_ and_ the girl that had given her life _meaning. _Deciding to leave the lamp turned on for the moment, she rolled over to once again stare miserably at the non-void on the other girl's side of the bed. Her brain screamed at her heart, demanding that it start working…but it just wasn't quite ready to obey.

Minutes passed before Fiona finally returned to the bedroom dressed in her usual nighttime attire. The brown pair of eyes remained hovering on the same area of the sheets as they watched them fill with the socialite's presence.

Lying as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible, the older girl was being very vigilant not to accidentally touch her skittish girlfriend. She had just found the mutilated sweatshirt in the bathroom, which left her feeling very determined not to upset the fragile girl anymore than she already was. After adjusting her pillow, she turned her back to Imogen and closed her eyes. "Good night…" her apprehensive voice managed.

"Fiona…" Imogen let out a deep exhale, "We need to talk."

The words sent a shudder up the older girl's spine. Opening her eyelids, her gaze was now focused on the wall in front of her. Nothing good was ever known to follow that tiny twelve-letter phrase. Slowly, she shifted her position to face the girl she loved more than anything else in the world.

Staring at Fiona's fearful face, Imogen hesitated with the words that were lodged inside of her throat. She knew that after this conversation, the life they had sculpted together was probably going to be smashed into pieces. After all, 'taking a break' usually just cushions the inevitable 'break' part. Holding the glacial blue eyes with her own, she paused and gave her worthless heart another chance to intervene. _Nothing._

"Everything okay?" The socialite asked.

"No…no, it's not," Imogen breathed honestly. But she decided not to go down without a fight. Timidly, she reached out her uncertain hand and placed it on the nape of the other girl's neck, witnessing her fiancée's expression rapidly shift into confusion. Gently pulling Fiona closer, she closed her eyes and joined their lips in a soft kiss, yearning for even the smallest of sparks. _Still nothing…_ So she pushed further.

Fiona's heartbeat raced as Imogen deepened their kiss. Her own lips, however, were hesitant, perplexed by her girlfriend's sudden change in mood. It had only been a few days since the younger girl had been affectionate towards her, but it had felt longer than the entire month they had gone without seeing each other. Listening to the annoying voice of reason inside of her head, she pulled her face slightly away from the other girl's. "Immy…I'm not sure if this is a good idea…"

"Please," the young girl pleaded desperately with her fiancée and with her heart.

Looking into Imogen's sad despairing eyes, the socialite struggled with herself to ignore that same voice of reason that was yelling inside of her head. She simply did not have the heart or the willpower to deny the other girl of anything. "Okay," she whispered back, allowing her fiancée to push even further.

…

Following their intimacy, the room was filled with deafening silence. The curly brunette rested on her side, watching as the other girl's petite back rose and fell with each slow breath. She wanted to say something, but couldn't grasp onto any words. Instead, she placed her hand on top of Imogen's upper arm and gently turned her over. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she saw the tears flooding down the girl's cheeks. "Im…" Bringing her soft fingers up to her girlfriend's face, she wiped away the large tears. "What is it?"

"I can't do it anymore," the broken girl sobbed. "This—us—I just can't do it anymore."

"I don't understand…" Fiona's voice was uneasy. "What exactly are you saying?" she asked fretfully, knowing _exactly_ what the other girl was saying—what she had been dreading since that twelve-letter phrase was spoken. She could feel the dense air clinging to her lungs, refusing to come out.

Self-loathing grew inside of Imogen's conscience. Her fingers found that same bare spot on her left hand, sending a stab through her chest. "You need to go back home…" she choked. "To New York."

Shaking her head in disbelief, the older girl sat up on the bed. "This doesn't make any sense… Did I do something wrong? I mean, what just happened? You wanted to have sex before sending me five hundred miles away?" She ran her fingers through her hair, frantically searching Imogen's face for any kind of explanation.

The young girl let out a defeated sigh. "Of course not."

"Well then why would you do that to me?" Fiona's voice broke as she resisted her tears' escape.

"I was trying to be in love with you again!" Imogen retorted, frustrated. "Trying to feel _anything _except for the pain and resentment that I feel when I look at you!"

Instant quietness fell upon the room. The socialite could not even hear her own heart beating, as she shifted her gaze away from the younger girl and planted it on the wall in front of her. Exhausted, her mind wondered how she was supposed to battle for a cause that was already lost. "You're not in love with me anymore?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Before anyone worries too much after reading this chapter, just keep in mind that I care about these characters too. However, I like delving into real human emotions, and these emotions are sometimes messy...especially during tragic times. But fear not, I'm sure most everyone will be content with how this story will end.**

**Thanks for reading; more chapters to come! :)**


	13. Chapter 13- Unwanted

**Chapter 13-** Unwanted

"Imogen, answer me." The younger girl remained mute. Stretching her arm out, Fiona turned Imogen's face to meet her eyes. "Are you no longer in love with me?"

Unable to continue looking into the glacial eyes, Imogen diverted hers downward, while shaking her emotionally heavy head from side to side.

"So you had sex with me knowing that you weren't in love with me anymore…? Knowing that you still wanted me to go back to New York…? Wow…" Knots twisted inside the older girl's stomach as she watched her girlfriend remain unresponsively silent. The large bed suddenly felt disgusting. Letting out a scoff, Fiona pushed herself up from the mattress and retrieved her scattered clothes from the floor. Upon finishing getting dressed, her determined finger flicked up on the room's light switch, better illuminating the girl that had just stomped all over her heart. "Never in my life has someone made me feel as cheap and disposable as you just did. You basically just gave me the same respect as a one night stand."

Imogen lifted her stare to the devastated socialite. After standing up, she hesitated and then took a few small steps in the other girl's direction. "I'm sorry…" Her voice was sorrowful. "I was trying to fix us—well…_fix me._"

"You should have tried talking to me! I've been waiting and waiting for the moment that you would finally just open up to me about everything, and let me _help you_…but you've been shutting me out since the very second you heard about your dad's accident." Hearing her own words, Fiona took a few measured breaths and managed to calm herself down. "I don't understand what I did to make you resent me so much…"

Running through her own jumbled thoughts, the tan girl wondered the same thing. How had her feelings towards the girl changed so drastically in such a short period of time? What _had _happened? Finally, she was able to pinpoint the reason for her concealed grudge. "I shaped my whole life around _you_…" the girl stated upon realization. "I put you above everything else…_everyone _else; I agreed to everything you decided was best for us—_you_ decided we couldn't get married until after I graduate; _you _decided on this house, even though I really would have preferred the one with the bigger yard; _you _decided which days I would go and visit you in New York. I mean jeez, Fiona, you even decided that I needed to go out with classmates on Friday, when all I really wanted to do was just stay home with you. But I obeyed, because I loved you…and because I would have done _anything _you wanted…" her soft voice trailed. The socialite stood wordlessly with each sentence resonating in her mind. Pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, Imogen's stare fell to the floor with a deep exhale. "And now I'm left with this entire life of _your _decisions…and with a dead dad that will never even get to see my wedding, or my kids, or anything else that holds any meaning at all. He was sick and alone and I should have put _him_ first."

"Your dad knew how much you loved him, Im," the older girl whispered with newfound compassion.

"Fiona, eighty percent of the time he didn't even know my name, let alone how much I loved him." Her tone was growing harsher. "And do you want to know what the last lucid conversation I had with him was?" Not waiting for a response from her girlfriend, she continued. "I was at the airport two months ago, waiting for my flight to New York, and he called me just to check in. I told him that I couldn't talk because my flight was starting to load and that I would call him back whenever I landed—I didn't call him back. I forgot, of course, because I was with _you_."

Fiona suddenly felt overwhelmed with guilt and sadness. Walking back towards the bed, she lowered herself to sit on the edge, as she continued digesting all of her fiancée's lingering words. "Every single decision that I ever made, I made for you. Doing what I thought you wanted or what was best for you in the long run. All I have ever cared about is your happiness, Im. It's _still_ the only thing I care about." Fixating her heavy blue eyes to her pale hands, she fiddled with the ring that was still on her finger. "I liked the other house more too," she breathed. "But you wouldn't tell me which one you preferred, so I chose this one because it had arched ceilings… and I know how much you love arched ceilings."

Listening to the socialite's oration, Imogen tightened the strings on her robe. She slowly pulled out the small chair from the vanity, allowing herself to fall into the seat. It was comforting to let the chair take some of the burden from her tired body.

"I told you which days to come to New York based on when things were going to be happening that I thought you would enjoy—the photography expos, the indie-pop concerts, the movies you wanted to see… I just wanted your trips there to be as full as possible." Looking at her stationary fiancée, the older girl yearned for a time when their biggest fights were about missed phone-dates. Imogen was right—things _were_ different now. "Not that it even really matters, but I might as well finish explaining myself…" Imogen's head lifted to look at her. "Friday, when your friend was texting you about going out, I saw your face perk up when you read his message. It started eating at me, this feeling that I was holding you back from other things—things that _I can't _be a part of. I didn't want you to miss out just because I'm such a screwed up disaster."

Imogen's heart was hit with a small pang as she heard the other girl speak so poorly of herself. "You're not a disaster…and I never felt like I was missing out on anything…" The eccentric girl released a sigh, gently shaking her head. "I felt that anything that couldn't involve you was not even worth my time."

"It's me that wasn't worth your time, Imogen. I mean look at yourself," she raised her hand towards the other girl, "you're miserable."

"Fiona-"

"We had only been back together for like six months when you asked me…and it was right after that night with your dad. I was worried that you were making a rash emotional decision that you hadn't had time to fully think through…I didn't want you deciding to spend your entire life with someone based off of one horrible night. So I figured if I gave you a long enough engagement, you'd have plenty of time to be absolutely sure that I was the one you wanted forever—I didn't want you to regret me," her voice trailed off. "We both shaped our lives around each other, because that's what people who love each other do. That's how we fit so perfectly…or _did_, at least," she shook her head. "Now I'm just this horrible person that robbed you of valuable moments with you could have had with your dad…" her manicured fingers wiped away the moisture from underneath her eye. "I'm so sorry," she breathed.

Imogen watched as the other girl rose from the bed and walked towards the closet, retrieving a large suitcase. She placed it on the bed and then proceeded to fill it with her elegant clothes. Before changing out of her pajamas and into one of her regular outfits, she walked into the bathroom and returned with her packed toiletries. "Where are you going?" the young girl's delicate voice asked.

Zipping the bag closed, the curly brunette turned to face Imogen. "A hotel for now, until I can find out when the next flight to New York is." She moved towards her fiancée and knelt down in front of the chair, clasping the girl's small tan hands in her own. "I should have listened to you the first time. You really are better off without me—I mess everything up. Please…just know how sorry I am." Releasing her grasp, she stood up and paced to the bedroom's exit carrying her incredibly heavy baggage.

"Wait-" The quirky girl reflexively rose from her chair and embraced the socialite in a tight hug, sending the girl's suitcase falling to the wooden floor. "I'm sorry too," she whispered through the dark curls.

Letting go of Imogen, Fiona face formed into a half-grin, as she loitered for just a few more seconds in those deep brown eyes. "Don't be. You were perfect." She then picked her suitcase back up and redirected her path to the stairs.

Watching the older girl walk out of her life, Imogen was overwhelmed with the finality of the situation. She turned her gaze to the section of the closet that was now empty, with fallen hangers scattered upon the floor. Looking next at the bed, her eyes lingered upon the sheets that were currently jumbled from the other girl's presence—a presence that was now gone from a bed that was now way too big. Slowly, she crawled on top of the mattress and curled up onto Fiona's former side of the bed. With her face buried in the pillow, Chanel No. 5 filled her nostrils…and just like that, her heart began to beat again. Lying in that now-empty spot, she cried herself into a deep sleep.

…

As the cab pulled to the front of the house, Fiona stood up from the stoop. Her heels glided down the driveway, never missing a step as she reached the back of the car and put her large bag inside of the trunk.

"Where ya going?" The driver's deep voice asked as she entered the backseat.

"The Hilton DoubleTree," she answered. The car began to accelerate. "Actually, can you make a stop on the way? There's this little store on the corner of 22nd and Maple."

The man nodded, keeping his focus forward. "One of those kind of nights, huh?"

"Yeah. One of those kind of nights…" Fiona leaned her exhausted head against the window as her cold blue eyes stared at the dark winding road that lay in front of her.


	14. Chapter 14- When You're Gone

**Chapter 14-** When You're Gone

Imogen awoke still lying in the same lonely spot of the bed that she had fallen asleep in. The sun was bright and pierced her eyes as it shone through the window, but her body felt refreshed from finally getting a full night's sleep. Staring up at the ceiling, her mind recalled yesterday evening's happenings. She wondered if maybe—just maybe—Fiona had decided to stay and sleep beneath those arched ceilings downstairs. As she heard the stairs creak, she perked up her head, only to be disappointed by an obvious lack of clacking—a sound that she never realized how much she adored until that moment; a sound that she would now only hear on the very rare occasions that she had to wear heels, and even then it would not sound as sweet.

"Good morning, ladies," the boy said while knocking on the already open door with one hand and focusing on not trying to spill his iced tea with the other. "Everybody decent?" Looking up, he quickly noticed a blatant shortage of socialites. "Where's Lady Coyne? Did she have to go to the store or something? Breakfast, perhaps?" He grinned, hopeful for food.

Sitting up, the girl moved the pillow to her lap and clutched her arms around it. "You didn't see Fiona leave last night? I figured she would have woke you up or something…to say bye at least." Her eyes sank when it crossed her mind that even _she_ hadn't gotten to say goodbye to the other girl—An end to an amazing little era that was not even finalized with an appropriate farewell.

"No, I slept like a log. Why? What happened?" Eli cocked his head to the side with a scrunched brow.

The young girl shrugged her small shoulders. "She gave me what I've been asking for… just like she always has."

"Oh…" His green eyes noticed her tight grasp on the pillow. As he stepped closer to the bed, he carefully placed the glass of tea on the wooden end table. "And how do you feel?"

Imogen shook her head somberly from side to side, lowering her face into the comfort of the cushy cotton, taking in a large inhale and then letting it all out.

"Okay, get up. I'm going to make you breakfast." The boy grabbed onto her delicate arms and pulled her up from the bed. As he continued moving her out of the room, she halted, and then turned around, looking back behind them.

"Fiona would kill you if she knew you weren't using a coaster on her imported Italian end table."

His eyes widened, focusing on his resting glass of tea. "You're right, Moreno. Good save." The goofy boy quickly retrieved his drink, and then twisted back around to find a tiny smile forming on his friend's face. "What?"

"Over three weeks of living together and you _still_ haven't mastered 'Coyne's Coasters 101'?" Imogen rolled her eyes and let out a scoff. "Amateur."

Returning his steps towards the stairs, he nudged her shoulder with his own. "Daresay I hear a joke in there somewhere?"

Letting out a sigh, the girl's little smile slowly faded away. "Maybe a small one…"

"Good. We've missed those."

…

Imogen leaned her weight forward on her stool with her gaze on the boy as he opened their kitchen cabinets. He stood there tapping his chin vigorously as he contemplated the various food products that occupied the shelves. "When did you learn how to cook?"

"Well let's just say that my internal cookbook is still very limited…"

"How limited exactly?" she questioned with raised brow.

Eli reached inside, removing two boxes from the top shelf. "Cereal or Pop-tarts?"

"Wow," the young girl deadpanned while pointing a tan finger towards the Pop-tart box. "How on Earth are you single, Eli Goldsworthy?"

After opening the foil wrapper and dropping two frosted cherry pastries into the toaster, he turned around and to face the quirky girl. "Hey, I remember a time when you were obsessed with the idea of being my girlfriend. So don't get all uppity."

"Excuse me, that was a very very very long time ago—way before I knew of your inability to prepare a proper breakfast." Imogen crossed her arms over her chest and intertwined her feet over the floor.

"And before Fiona."

Looking down at the counter, her heart gave a tug upon hearing the girl's name. "… And before Fiona," she reiterated.

As he placed a plate along with a small glass of milk in front of his friend, Eli took a seat at her side. "So did you get all of the answers you were looking for last night?"

"Yeah…" her soft voice trailed. "And basically I'm a jerk." Turning to face the boy, she dropped the Pop-tart that her fingers were playing with and placed her hands on top of her lap. "I pretty much told her that she was the sole reason that my dad would miss out on everything… You should have seen her face—I've never seen her look so shattered."

Lifting out of his seat, he grabbed a napkin and handed it to the petite girl so that she could dab the tear that was developing in her eye. "What did she say?"

"She said that she was sorry and only wanted me to be happy; that the long engagement was only to give me time to make sure that I wasn't making a rash decision."

"Now why in the world would she suspect _you_ of making a _rash decision_, I wonder?" he asked with sarcasm highly present in his tone.

Imogen's brown eyes shot him a defensive glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Swirling the ice around inside of his drink, he met the girl's glance. "Imo, I love you to death, but you can't deny that you tend to act impulsively. I mean look back on your relationship—Fiona gets a job in Rome and you freak out and impersonate her, trying to ruin her chances of getting to do what she loved; Fiona _comes back_ from Rome for the specific reason of seeing if there was still something here with you, and you cheat on your girlfriend with her, ditch Fiona, then get back together with her a couple days later; Your father has to be put in a nursing home and the next day you ask her to marry you?" He watched as his friend slowly turned and placed her elbows on the countertop. His hand lifted to give her back a gentle pat. "You're a rash and emotional person—there's nothing wrong with that. Hell, it's no secret that I am the exact same way…but that's why we have our Fionas and our Clares—to balance us out."

Imogen propped her face into her warm hands, absorbing and appreciating the boy's honesty. _When did he suddenly become the one to take relationship advice from? _Looking down at the Pop-tart she could not help but think about how much she would prefer nothing more than a piece of chocolate-raspberry cheesecake. "My dad passes away and I destroy five perfect years because of four horrible days…" she said under her breath.

"Pretty rash, right?" He reached out and grabbed a piece of the girl's uneaten pastry. Barely chewing it, he swallowed and then washed it down with a big gulp of tea.

"Yeah," she admitted, sullenly.

Seeing the girl with her face still buried in her hands, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his chest. "Hey, I know you think your dad is going to miss out on everything important… but you're wrong," his calm voice whispered. "He saw you graduate high school, and he saw you become independent and live on your own while you attend university. He heard you tell him every single detail about all of the amazing places you've been, and all of the things you have done that no normal twenty-something year old ever has the opportunity to experience. Heck, most people don't get to do those things in their _entire lifetime_." Looking down, Eli saw Imogen peering up him. "Most importantly, he got to be there when you _fell in love_. A wedding is just a ceremony—yeah it's 'special' and 'fun' and 'what every little girl dreams of', but it's nothing compared to what your dad already knew. He knew that Fiona made you _happy_—that she took care of you, and has always been nothing but patient, kind, and completely in love with _you_; that if it came to it, that girl would go to the ends of the earth for his daughter, and she would do so in style." Eli heard the girl release a slight laugh through her sniffles. "I can guarantee you that he cared way more about all of that stuff than he did about a ceremony that lasts for a few hours, Imo—It's not even a question."

Imogen nodded her head faintly, and continued wiping the tears that were now flowing more readily from her brown eyes. She clung her arms tight around the lanky boy. "Thank you," her voice broke.

"Forgive me for going cliché here, but 'that's what friends are for'," he polished off with air-quotes. He gave her back another gentle pat and then turned his gaze to the clock on the wall. "So what do you want to do today? It's already almost eleven. Not ready to go back to classes quite yet?"

Releasing her grip, the girl adjusted herself back in her stool, and shook her head from side to side. "I think I'll go visit my mom and my siblings. She's been worried about me too."

"I think that's a good idea," he grinned. "Maybe fit in a call with a certain fashionista?"

She pondered this for a few seconds. "Not today. Today I just need to clear my head and figure out what it is I need to say to her… maybe try not to be so rash this time?" The tan girl let out a deep sigh. "The things that I did to her last night, Eli… and what I said—it was all just such a disaster."

Eli stood up, grabbing the plate and their two glasses. He walked to the sink to set them inside, allowing the faucet to rinse over them. "Okay, well you think about it. But don't take _too _long. First-class flights out of Toronto are pretty easy to come by—especially for a world traveler."

"Yeah, I know…" she established, lifting from her chair as well. "What are _your_ plans for the day?"

"Well first I'm going to go freshen up at Bullfrog's. I'd say this shirt has reached it's maximum potential," he pointed his finger at the many mascara stains. "Then who knows? Probably squeeze in a call with Clare somewhere in the day?" His shoulders lifted in a shrug.

Imogen crossed the room towards the sink and gave him a tight hug. "Good luck," she smiled, before changing her direction back towards the stairs. "I'm going shower and get ready. Let me know how it goes with Clare," her voice grew dimmer as the distance between the two widened.

"I will!" he yelled back. Taking out his cellphone, he dialed for a cab to come and bring him to his parents' house. As he walked outside to wait for his ride, his finger pressed down on a contact that didn't lie far from the top of his 'favorites' list—Fiona Coyne.

10:54 AM-_ Where are you?_ _Are you okay?_


	15. Chapter 15- Complicated

**Chapter 15-** Complicated

Upon hearing a knock on the heavy door of her hotel suite, the socialite rose from the couch to let in her expected visitor.

"Sorry I took so long! Bullfrog kept going on and on about some hunting trip he wants to go on. Anyways…Hey! How are you?" He leaned in to greet her with a hug before crossing the threshold and kicking his shoes off at the door. "Whoa, what happened to your hand?" he asked upon noticing a brightly colored bandage on the girl's finger.

"Broken bottle incident," Her outstretched hand signaled towards the sink where several large pieces of a green champagne bottle still remained. "I tried cleaning it up and it sliced my finger. So I decided just to leave it there. Maid will get it anyway."

His eyes shifted from the sink back to his melancholy friend. "Fiona…" he breathed; his voice was saturated with disappointment. "Please tell me you didn't…"

Shaking her head from side to side, the curly brunette held his stare and exhaled. "I didn't." Her high heels moved towards the long couch. She sat down and leaned her head back against the cushion. "I _wanted _to. _Very badly_." Fiona felt her body shift as the boy sat next to her. "I stood there just looking at it for like an hour—Thinking about how I'd lost the only thing that really mattered, so what was the big deal if I lost my sobriety too. But I don't know…" She turned her head, focusing her gloomy blue eyes on his compassionate face. "It's been over _six years_ since I've had a drink… I couldn't just squander all of that away. Eventually I got frustrated from debating with myself and smashed the bottle into the sink before I could get tempted any further."

Leaning over, he placed his hand just above her knee and gave it a slight squeeze. "Good. I'm really proud of you," he assured honestly. "Never again." Eli looked at the girl strictly until she nodded her head in agreement. His focus soon found the printed-out paper on the coffee table in front of them. "When did you get that?"

"This morning. I went down to the media center and printed it… then I realized that I completely forgot my passport at the house when I switched purses a couple days ago…" She looked at him desperately, "Would you maybe be able to go get it for me? It's in the living room on that little table with the candles. You know, right next to the chaise?"

Eli propped up his legs and folded his arms, making himself more at home in the very temporary location. "I guess I could do that. When is your flight?"

"Tonight," she said while picking up the airline information and placing it on top of his crossed arms.

"Tonight? But that's so soon!"

Fiona cocked her head back, surprised by her friend's sudden anxiety. "It's not soon enough—there's nothing left for me here."

Raising his hands up in bewilderment, he sent the piece of paper floating to the floor. "Um, are you forgetting about Imogen? Your _fiancée?_ About 5'5, wears glasses, loves Harry Potter… any of this ringing any bells?"

"Eli, we aren't together anymore. Didn't you guys talk about any of this?"

"You had _one _setback… that doesn't mean it's time to jump ship."

The socialite ran her fingers through her dark hair, growing annoyed by the conversation. "It does whenever that 'setback' is that the person you're in a relationship with doesn't love you anymore, and would literally rather you be hundreds of miles away than in the same room as her." Her gaze shifted to the muted television as her pulse calmed. "Who can blame her, though? After what I took from her, I'd hate me too…"

"You didn't take _anything_ from her," the boy assured while placing his hand on her shoulder. "You gave her _everything._"

"No, what I _gave her_ was a world of regret. Immy deserves better." After standing up from the sofa, Fiona reached down to grab the fallen paper.

As she began to step away, the boy reached out and caught her dangling arm, rising to match her height. "Don't even say that—don't you dare sell yourself short. I witnessed first-hand you working until 4:00 AM every night, so that you could get enough done to be able to schedule time off to visit her; I've heard you blow off your family dinners time after time just because Imogen had a long day and wanted to talk on the phone a little longer; Or how about when you call Toronto restaurants and surprise her with random dinner deliveries because you know she's going to be up late studying? Fiona, if I've learned anything from living with you these past few weeks, it's that you have the biggest, most caring heart—any girl would be damn lucky to have you."

"It's not that simple," the socialite breathed, while pulling her arm out of the boy's loose grasp. "The only girl that I desire to _have me_ doesn't _want_ me." She continued moving to the other side of the room and then placed her itinerary on top of the bed.

Eli watched from afar as she sorted through the suitcase, adjusting the outfits to prevent wrinkles. "Just stay a little longer—give her just a little more time to digest everything… She still loves you."

The words immediately jolted the other girl, causing her to freeze in her tracks. She stared blankly at her packed suitcase. "She said that?" her voice softly asked, keeping her back turned to the boy.

"Well she didn't exactly _say_ it, but it was implied… And I can just tell. I mean she was clinging to your side of the bed this morning, that's got to mean something, right?"

Fiona let out a scoff, shaking her head. "I can't stay here based on what you _think _that 'you can tell'." She lowered her bottom on to the edge of the bed, turning to look at him. "Eli, she's usually the thing that keeps me from wanting to drink—last night was the very first time she was the thing _making_ me want to. I can't just stay in this hotel room forever, alone with all of these thoughts inside my head. I may have been able to resist the urge last night, but I won't be able to keep doing it. I need to go home and be around my family right now. Or else I'm afraid of what might happen…" her eyes shifted to the sink, lingering on the troubling view of her almost-mistake.

"You can come stay with me at Bullfrog's? I'll keep you from drinking. I leave on Thursday, but at least it's a couple more days… just in case." His socks began to move across the carpet as he walked towards the bed. "Just hold on a little longer—we'll fix this."

"You've already gone way above and beyond your best friend duties; I truly value everything you've done," the curly brunette stated appreciatively. "But I need to learn how to take care of myself, without relying on other people to babysit me through the tough times. And our relationship isn't something _you_ need to fix—it's something Imogen and I need to fix… _together_. If she doesn't want to do that, then I need to respect her wishes. All I want is for her to be happy again, and if me leaving helps with that then so be it." Her pale hands picked up the paper and held it out in front of herself. "When this flight leaves tonight, I am going to be on it."

Eli stepped closer and gave her a hug. "Okay," he whispered. "But if you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

"I know... Thank you." She lifted to her feet and began to walk with him towards the door.

"Imogen is at her mother's today. So if you wanted to go and get your passport along with any other things you may want to take back with you, the coast will be clear—I don't mind going, I just didn't know if you wanted to make sure you weren't forgetting anything before your flight." Eli reached down and grabbed his black shoes, slipping them back over his socks.

"That's probably a good idea," she smiled. "Wouldn't want to forget a favorite outfit or anything."

"_Such _a diva thing to say." Shaking his head playfully, he gave her another hug before reaching for door handle.

As he stepped out into the hall, the socialite's hand caught the door before it could finish shutting. "Hey, Eli?"

"Yeah?" The boy paused, turning back around.

"How did you know which side of the bed was mine?"

"I'm _very_ observant," he grinned mischievously. "Also, there _may_ have been a very small coaster incident involving your end table, for which I was reprimanded…"

"Eli!" her eyes widened, as she flung up her arms.

Giving her a wink, he chuckled. "Relax! It's taken care of!"

Rolling her blue eyes, she shut the door before he could see the huge smile forming on her face. "Boys." She murmured to herself. As she continued verifying that everything was packed, she turned her gaze back to the countertop and remembered the shiny diamond ring she had placed there upon her arrival. She picked it up and squeezed it tightly inside of her palm, causing her heart to sink all over again. Her slender fingers tugged at the ring that was on her own hand, and then dropped both of them into the front compartment of her designer purse. Grabbing her heavy suitcase along with her flight information, Fiona commenced her journey home.


	16. Chapter 16- Push

**Chapter 16-** Push

"It was nice of your friend Becky to stop by for dinner tonight. I'm glad you two were able to maintain your friendship after high school—that can be hard to do when everyone starts going their separate ways." Natalie held the dish under the streaming hot water, before handing it off to Imogen to dry.

"Not really," the young girl replied, thinking about how the three people closest to her were all from her high school years. "It's easy if the people are important to you."

After reaching for a dirtied pot, the red head looked back at her daughter. "Well then you should count yourself lucky that you have people that are so important to you. I didn't keep in touch with anyone from my teen days—it's not that I didn't _want _to, it's just that life got so busy and before I knew it, my former 'best-friends' were strangers." Her focus changed back towards the sink as she scrubbed the red sauce off of the metal pot.

Hearing these words immediately made Imogen feel very unsettled. Never before had it crossed her mind that there could come a day when Eli, Becky, or Fiona would be nothing more than a stranger—former friends torn apart by life's inevitable fate. However, after last night, the possibility of this happening seemed frighteningly feasible… and with the person she least wanted it to happen with. As realization began to set in, her head began to spin, and a half-dried dish slipped through her trembling fingers, just as easily as Fiona had. The plate crashed into the hard floor, shattering to bits all around her.

"Imogen! Are you okay?" Her mother reached down, picking up the large pieces of white plate—first from around her daughter's socked feet, and then from the rest lying in close proximity. "You are such a klutz—definitely your father's daughter," the woman said light-heartedly. Right as the words were exiting her mouth, Natalie tried to pull them back in, but it was too late. She looked up from her squatted position to see her daughter's eyes glazed over with sadness. "Imogen, I'm sorry… I know how hard this has all been for you."

"No, it's okay," the girl breathed, while wiping a lone tear from her eye. "I like that I'm like him."

Standing up, her mother's face formed into a grin as she looked at her first-born, studying all of the many flecks of her ex-husband that shone through the young girl. "I do too," she whispered as her own eyes welled up. "I do too."

Imogen smiled back, nodding silently at her admiring parent, before taking a giant step out of the broken glass and tiptoeing towards the cleaning closet to retrieve a broom. As she began sweeping up the smaller shards, her mother continued washing and drying the remaining dirty dishes. "Sorry about your plate."

"Don't even worry about it; plenty more where that came from," she verified by pointing towards the large stack sitting inside of the opened cabinet. "So…" her voice hesitated, "are we going to talk about why Fiona didn't come with you today?"

The quirky girl's tan hand tapped the dustpan into the trashcan rhythmically. Letting out a sigh, she walked over to the breakfast bar and took a seat adjacent to the sink. "How am I supposed to explain something to you that I can't even explain to myself?" While shaking her heavy head, she leaned it back to stare at the fluorescent light. Her jumbled thoughts bounced around inside of her clustered brain. "Am I a horrible person for choosing my girlfriend over my father?"

Natalie twisted the small knob, turning off the sink's faucet. Taking a few steps, she stood on the opposite side of the bar, facing her daughter. "What do you mean?"

"I mean like… I feel guilty—guilty that I spent so much time with her while Dad was in the nursing home, and guilty that there was no where else in the world that I would have rather been. _Even now_, after everything that's happened, I think back on all of the stuff that Fiona and I did together—or even when we _weren't_ doing stuff and we were just hanging out with each other—and I can't imagine a more perfect way to have spent my time. But I feel like I'm supposed to _regret_ that… Like I owe it to Dad to regret it because it was valuable time I could have been spending with _him_ before it was too late." As she pushed a piece of brown hair behind her ear, she pulled up her legs and crossed them on top of the chair. "I took everything out on Fiona… I guess it was easier to just blame her for it all… but if I'm being completely honest with myself, I wouldn't change a single thing about spending as much time as possible with her—and I hate myself for that…"

Grabbing onto her daughter's resting hands, the woman gave them a comforting squeeze. "You don't have anything to feel guilty about, sweetheart. The best possible way you could have spent your father's last months was by doing exactly what you did—whatever made you happiest. He didn't want you stuck in a nursing home with him all of the time, watching as his mind deteriorated little by little—he wanted you out there, _living_—Doing the things that you loved, and making a beautiful life for yourself— Happiness is the single most important thing any parent wants for their children… trust me, I'm speaking from experience," she grinned, looking at the younger girl assuredly. "Eventually our kids grow up and they build their own lives. The person that they choose to spend the rest of their life with becomes the most important person in their life. That's how it's _supposed_ to be, Im, that doesn't make you horrible."

Imogen's brown eyes found that empty spot on her hand. There was still a slightly discolored circle wrapping around her finger where the ring had prevented the sunlight from landing—evidence that something belonged there and was currently missing. "I want to be happy again," she exhaled. "I want my life back—before all this happened."

"You can't change the past, Imogen. Your life isn't going to go back to being exactly as it was—but that doesn't mean it won't be wonderful. Will you still grieve your dad? Sure, probably for a long time. Some days will be really hard, and others won't be so bad—that's something you won't have any control over, and you'll just have to take it one day at a time until you eventually have more good days than bad ones." Natalie picked up her daughter's chin and fixed the girl's fallen glasses to the top of her nose. "You know what you _do_ have control over?"

Shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head, the petite girl responded with a quiet "No."

"Literally everything else."

Imogen shot her mother a quizzical glance, with a scrunched brow. "Everything else?" she questioned, confused.

"Everything else," the woman repeated. "Where you go from here, who you want to be with, what you want to eat tomorrow, where you want to live, what outfit you want to wear, what job you want to get, which song you want to listen to next, how many kids you want to have, and so, so, so much more. It's all up to you. Do not take any single decision for granted, because each and every one has the potential to brighten your life—So you need to figure out what will make you happy. What do you want?"

As she soaked up her mom's words, Imogen felt tears begin to graze down her cheeks—but for the first time in days, these tears weren't caused by sadness or by loss. Instead, they were molded by hope—hope that she could go wherever made her happy; be whatever made her happy; and love whoever made her happy… after all, happiness was the only thing that mattered. Recalling her father's letter, she smiled, finally understanding exactly what her dad had meant by those twenty-two words he had written so long ago. Her heart knew what her answer was before her trailing mind could even catch up—where would she be happy? _Wherever Fiona was. _What would make her happy? _Being with Fiona. _Who did she love? _Fiona. Fiona_ was her happiness—therefore _Fiona_ was the only thing that mattered. The young girl's pulse began to race as she instinctually rose from her chair, and pushed it under the bar. Walking over to her mom, she gave her a lasting hug. After releasing her grip, she looked at her with a tad bit uncertainty. "It's okay to be rash _sometimes_, right?"

Grinning down at her impulsive daughter, the woman knew exactly what it was the girl was thinking. "When it comes to love, dear, there's no other way to be. Love is urgent, and doesn't wait for reason."

Nodding her head, Imogen quickly turned and grabbed her car keys from the counter. Before moving towards the front door to put on her shoes, she looked back to see an amused Natalie staring at her. "I've got to go."

"I know," the read head winked, "but no speeding."

"Got it." The young girl shut the door behind her, made her way into her car, and then nervously stuck the key into the ignition. As she pulled out of the driveway, she still had no idea what it was she needed to say to Fiona, but she knew that each centimeter she moved closer to her soul mate was a centimeter in the right direction.


	17. Chapter 17- Keep Holding On

**Chapter 17-** Keep Holding On

The small car remained parked in the driveway in front of the girls' empty home. _Please don't be gone yet, _the girl kept thinking to herself as her nervous fingers repeatedly tapped on the 'redial' option. Each call landed in the vast abyss of Fiona's voicemail. Frustrated and anxious, she shoved her phone into her small purse and exited the vehicle. As she made her way to the red front door, the outdoor light above it caught her eye as it flickered in the cold darkness and reminded her of just how easily things can burn out.

Shoving her bronze key into the knob, she twisted it to the right until she heard a click, and then rushed over the threshold and into the house. Her tan hand patted against a small section of wall until it located the light switch. As she set her things down on the counter, Imogen's brown eyes instantly noticed something resting on top of the tiled countertop that had not been there when she left—a small yellow note, held down by the weight of Fiona's engagement ring. Immediately, she was frozen in her tracks, terrified of stepping any closer to whatever devastating verdict was penned on that taunting piece of paper. _That's it. It's over. I'm too late._ Her chest felt heavy and her head rushed with blood. The girl's petite, overwhelmed body leaned against a bar stool, overcome with heartache as she grasped just how far she had shoved the person she loved out of her life.

After a few silent and petrifying minutes of staring at the strikingly beautiful ring, she reluctantly edged closer to the note. As her left hand picked up the ring, the right one raised up the yellow paper, and with a held breath she began to read Fiona's penned words.

_Immy,_  
><em>Wearing this knowing that you're not wearing yours just doesn't feel right, so I'm leaving it with you. You can get rid of it… if that's what you need to do, I completely understand. But know that I'll be holding onto yours forever. If one day you make a trip back to that galaxy where the rocket containing all of your feelings for me landed, then come find me—I'll still be waiting for you. Always.<br>I love you so much,  
>Fi<em>

As she reached the end of the small letter, the air surged out of her lungs with an enormous sensation of reprieve. Continuing to stare down at it, the words soon became smudged with droplets of mascara. While her left hand still clutched tightly around the diamond ring, her mind could clutch onto nothing except for one all-consuming thought—_how incredibly lucky am I to have found a Fiona Coyne. _

After folding up the note and putting it into her pants pocket, she unclasped her bracelet, slid the ring onto it, and then refastened it around her delicate wrist. With a newfound optimism, Imogen reached back into her purse and retrieved her phone. Three more missed calls later, the girl decided that she would do exactly what Fiona had said to do—she would go and find her...

Imogen awoke the next morning thirty minutes before her alarm was set to go off. Her flight wasn't scheduled for another five hours, but there was an extra stop she wanted to make on the way to the airport. Unsure of how exactly long she would even be in New York, she crammed her suitcase with enough of her quirky outfits to last her through the rest of the week, fully prepared to buy more later if necessary—her ticket, after all, was one-way. While grabbing her passport, keys, and phone, the girl gave a final look around the house to ensure she wasn't forgetting anything, and then started on her path to reclaiming what she'd lost.

…

Kneeling down on the ground, she felt her dark jeans dampen from the morning dew. It still looked like a fresh grave, surrounded by a huge audience of flower arrangements that were already beginning to wilt. Her slender fingers grazed the top of the cold cement as her eyes traced each letter of the engraved headstone.

"I miss you more than you can imagine," she breathed, her hot breath dissipating into the chilled air. "If you were here, you'd know exactly what to say to get me out of this mess—you _always_ knew what to say…" Her back relaxed as she lowered her weight further into her knees. "I hope wherever you are out there that you're happy. I hope there's lots of crosswords, and National Geographic, and fresh tomatoes…and…maybe even Volta?" A small grin formed on her face as she thought of how perfect a place that would be.

"I'm sorry that I can't stay longer today… but I need to get her back. A life without Fiona would be unbearable," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I love you, Dad. I'll keep you with me every day. No matter what happens in my life, you'll always be there for it—in _here_." Her tan hand pressed against her beating heart. "And I promise that wherever-"

"Imogen?"

Interposed, the young girl remained with her eyes fixed on the engraved cement. Her chest pounded as she became even more aware of just how cold it was outside—_Cold enough to play exceptionally cruel tricks on my exhausted mind?_ she wondered. Slowly standing up and turning around, she found a hesitant socialite standing an adequate distance away from her. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm so sorry, Im! I didn't mean to interrupt... I just—I wanted to bring these," her hanging arm lifted up, signaling to the fresh bundle of assorted lilies and roses in her hand. "I swear if I would have known you were here, I wouldn't have come," the older girl declared with apologetic eyes, nervously shaking her head. Her heels began to take small steps backwards in the grass. "I'll go." She twisted her body around, flowers in hand, and quickly started moving back towards her cab.

Perplexed, Imogen watched the as the girl steadied her pace, walking out of her life for the second time that week. How was this happening again? Her stomach twisted in knots, as her brain yelled at her heart that it was now or never. "Wait!" she forced out of her throat. Seeing the socialite pause, she took a deep breath and collected her tangled thoughts. Her determined black boots began to move forward. "I've been trying to call you."

"I went to bed pretty early last night, and my phone has been in my purse." Her blue eyes searched the younger girl's ambiguous face, completely confused as to where this conversation was going. "…To be honest, I haven't really been expecting any calls…so I guess checking it kind of slipped my mind."

"Oh…" Fiddling with the car keys in her hand, her pulse gradually calmed. "I was going to New York today—in a few hours actually." She lifted her head to match Fiona's gaze, while her dainty shoulders lifted with a small shrug. "I just… I thought that's where you'd be."

"I did too." Relieved by the calmness of Imogen's tone, the socialite took a small step closer to the other girl. "But a good friend convinced me that I should stay a little longer."

Cocking her head to the side, the young girl scrunched her brow. "Eli?"

"Yeah, that guy is _really_ persistent, isn't he?" Fiona smiled as Imogen let out a small laugh. Her heart filled, hearing that cherished sound she had been deeply missing for the past week.

Nodding, the girl's amusement drifted away as her tan face turned more sincere. "I'm glad you stayed," her soft voice affirmed, before falling silent. She stood there motionless, looking at the girl's beautiful dark curls, and admiring the piercing blue eyes that were staring back at her. The girl _truly was_ breathtakingly flawless, and one day without a Fiona Coyne in her life was one day too many. "Can we… talk maybe?"

"Im, _of course _we can talk." Turning around, she signaled to the cab driver, informing him that she would be staying a little longer.

Imogen walked forward and grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her to a nearby bench and motioning for her to sit down. "Okay, I'll start," she announced, while standing anxiously in front of the sitting girl. "I am so sorry—I'm sorry that I completely shut you out, and I'm sorry that I destroyed _you_ when I was trying so desperately to fix _myself_." She reached out and took the flowers from the other girl's grasp, setting them beside her on the bench, before kneeling down onto the sidewalk and taking Fiona's cold hands into her own. "I can't lose you. I won't," her voice broke. "I've known you since I was seventeen, Fiona… my life before you was so miserable. You were the first person that made me feel _normal_—like it was okay just to be myself. Everyone else just singled me out because I was different."

The socialite squeezed onto the quirky girl's hands, relishing her touch. "I love that you're different."

"Wait, let me finish." The younger girl rose from her knees and scooted the flowers further to the side, taking a seat beside the curly brunette. "I need to get this all out."

Fiona nodded and whispered an "okay", slightly apprehensive of scaring away Imogen's recently discovered initiative.

"Life when you left—when you went to Rome—was miserable too. And once again that was all my fault—I pushed you away then, just like I pushed you away this time… But I love you more than anything, and I don't want to wait another eight months hoping for some random act of fate to reunite us. The universe may have brought us together, Fiona, but it's our job to make sure that we _stay_ together."

Lifting her pale hand out of the younger girl's grasp, she brought it to her cheek and wiped away a tear. "I love you, too… _so much._ But-"

"But?" Imogen interrupted, shaking her head in misunderstanding.

"_But_—if this is going to work—you and me," she clarified by motioning her finger between them, "you have got to start _talking _to me. You have to _tell me_ when there's something that you want, or would prefer, or if something is bothering you. I can't read your mind, Imogen, no matter how much I wish that I could… and I don't want you to feel like _your_ life is just a long string of _my _choices."

"I was just upset when I said that, Fi," she sighed, regretfully. "You haven't done anything wrong… I'm the one who screwed this all up."

Looking at the other girl's fretted expression, Fiona was hit with the realization that Imogen was _incredibly_ _nervous _as to whether or not she would be taking her back—as if there was _actually _a sliver of a possibility that she would ever deny the quirky young girl of anything. Smiling at that outrageous thought, the fashionista wrapped her comforting arm around the girl's lower back and drew her in close. "Regardless of any of that, I still want to hear you actually _say_ whatever it is you're thinking, and what you want. We have to shape our life _together._"

"Okay," she quickly agreed. "I can do that." Her head leaned into the older girl's comfortable side, as her heavy eyes closed. The air was chilled, but her heart was warm, and for the first time in days she felt whole… like maybe—just maybe—everything would be okay.

Fiona moved a piece of her girlfriend's brown hair behind her ear, and placed a light kiss to the top of her head. "I've missed you, Immy," she breathed. "I thought that I had lost you for good this time… You really had me scared."

"I had myself scared," her faint voice admitted truthfully. Tilting her face upwards, she met the other girl's gaze, and grinned as her heart skipped a beat. She had missed her too—she had missed the girl's soothing voice, and the way she always smelled so amazing; She had missed the endless security that came with her cozy embrace, and the way that her shoulder was somehow the most comfortable pillow in the world. But most of all she had missed the guarantee of the girls' future together—a future where anything was possible, but everything was manageable so long as they would have each other for the rest of their entwined lives. Imogen straightened up her body, removing herself from Fiona's support. Keeping her brown eyes fixated into the icy blue ones, she allowed her rash and impulsive instincts to take the lead. "Let's get married." Fiddling with the clasp of her delicate bracelet, her determined fingers slid off the diamond ring. "Today—right now… Fiones," she implored, keeping her new promise to tell the girl what she wanted. "marry me."

Fiona cautiously drew her head back, with a furrowed brow as she looked at the younger girl uneasily. The voice of reason quickly resurfaced in the socialite's head, frantically waving a bright red flag—they had only just found each other again, after a week of being adrift in literal hell, and now she wanted to get married…? _Today? _Her heart fell to the ground as she wondered if that whole morning had been just another reckless reaction resulting from the young girl's emotionally devastating loss. Exhaling, she prepared herself for another potential upset. "Immy…" she wavered, her rushing thoughts leaving her stranded for words, "what?"


	18. Chapter 18- Together

**Chapter 18-** Together

"I know what you're going to say," Imogen's hand lowered down onto her lap, still holding onto the shiny ring. She hadn't exactly gotten the response that she wanted, but it wasn't something she was going to give up on that easily. "You're going to say that I'm being rash and emotional—that after everything that's happened in the past days, we should probably wait for a while before rushing back into the whole marriage thing."

"Well…yeah," the socialite nodded, stunned by her girlfriend's surprisingly accurate assumption. "Don't you think we should just take it down a couple of notches and focus on sorting everything out between us? This morning kind of came out of nowhere considering the last time we talked. I mean, Immy…" her heart panged, rehashing the wretched memory of their last encounter, "just two days ago you said you didn't love me anymore."

Gripping onto Fiona's soft hands with her own free one, she exhaled. "I know it sounds crazy… and maybe it is. This week was the absolute worst week of my life—Losing Dad destroyed me. I felt like a stranger inside of my own body, completely unrecognizable and completely miserable. I shouldn't have told you that I didn't love you anymore, Fiona, because it wasn't even _me_ saying the words. It was a broken, miserable, unrecognizable version of me, taking advantage of my shattered heart. I know that I should have given myself more time to heal before ruining us—I was just so scared that I would never be _myself _again…"

The curly brunette looked at the girl with enormous sympathy. It may have been days late, but she was incredibly appreciative that Imogen was finally opening up about what had been going on inside of that despairing head of hers. "I understand why you reacted how you did… what happened to you was so devastating, Immy. But I'm worried—I'm worried about what you'll do if in the future something like this happens. Are we going to keep ending up in this same situation?"

"If there's ever another time when something terrible happens, and I get to _that_ point again, I _promise_ you that I won't shut you out. I won't give up on us—not after a couple days, and not after a hundred years… Not ever." Imogen's conscience flooded with guilt, remembering everything she had done to the other girl the night she let her slip away. "…And Fiona," her voice hesitated, as her remorseful stare dropped to the hard ground, "I will _never _make you feel the way that I did two nights ago. I can't even believe what I did to you," she shook her head in disgust. "I _used_ you."

Lifting up the quirky girl's chin, she gently turned her head to face her own. "Hey," she removed the girl's thick framed-glasses from her face and wiped her eyes. "Don't you dare worry about _that_, okay? We all do crazy and desperate things when we're heartbroken, so don't for one second feel guilty about that, got it?" The older girl continued watching her girlfriend benevolently until she was answered with a small nod.

"But look," holding the penetrating blue eyes with her own, she lifted up the girl's hands and placed them over her chest to feel her pounding heartbeat, "it works again." Her mouth slowly shaped into a grin. "Being here with you, I feel like myself—the self that's been in love with you since grade twelve; the self that's been engaged to you for four years; the self that loves wearing toe-socks, and eating cheesecake; the self that craves nothing more on a Friday night than to snuggle under the blankets with you, watching whatever movie your huge heart desires—even the Olivia Wilde ones," she laughed with a tear. "This decision isn't too rash, Fiona. I know what I want. I've known what I wanted since I was a teenager—it's _you_. Every day, for the rest of my life, _you._"

"But what about our family and friends…? And the reception? Not to mention the honeymoon…" After peeling back the slender tan fingers, the fashionista retrieved her ring and admired its intricate design, thinking to herself about how one night was far too long a time to be separated from a diamond. "Is this what you really want?"

Imogen fixed her eyes on her father's distant grave. For so long she had worried about his presence at her wedding, that she had lost sight of what the wedding was really about—it wasn't about her dad, or her mom, or any of their friends; it damn sure wasn't about having a live band versus a DJ, or serving seafood instead of chicken. It was about her and it was about Fiona… and that was all she needed. "I don't care about any of that stuff, Fiones. As long as you're there, it's everything that I want. All of that other stuff is just decoration… and as for honeymoon? I'd be more than content just bunkering down at home together for the next few days with lots of sushi and online shopping."

Listening to the young girl, the socialite turned her gaze out towards the rest of the placid cemetery, noting what an odd place it was to be having this conversation—a conversation concerning the commitment of their future life together, surrounded by the unsettling reminder of what every person's future would eventually be. Life was entirely too short. "Okay," she smiled, slipping the ring back onto her naked finger. "Let's do it."

Imogen let out a small squeal, astounded to hear the curly brunette actually approve of her sudden request. "Really? You're okay with this?"

"Well I'm going to have some _serious_ explaining to do when it comes to Mama Coyne and Holly J…" Her shoulders lifted in a playful shrug as she poked the other girl's hip, "but they'll just have to get over it!"

Lunging forward, the eccentric girl enveloped the socialite in an extremely tight hug. "I love you so much, Fiona Coyne," she whispered, while closing her eyes and enjoying the other girl's warmth.

Fiona lowered her head on top of her fiancée's, and held her closely, not wanting to chance ever losing her again. She wasn't exactly sure how a day that started so lonely could now feel so full, but she was extremely grateful that it did. Her mind wondered just how drastically different the day would have been if she had taken that tempting sip two days ago, or if Eli wasn't as successful in convincing her to stay just a little bit longer. A scary thought, she decided, as she looked down and waited for those innocent, bright, and trusting brown eyes to find her. "I love you too, Immy—more than anything else in the world."

Staring up at Fiona's genuinely blissful expression, Imogen raised her head to match the other girl's height. Her hand gently caressed her girlfriend's smooth cheek as she continued guiding her fingers around to the nape of her neck. Keeping her other arm resting on Fiona's hip, she slowly pulled the socialite's face towards her own until she was close enough to lean forward and kiss her. Feeling those familiar soft lips against her own, Imogen's heart surged inside of her chest. Completely bewildered by her former lack of feelings, she racked her brain trying to figure out how in the world it was ever possible to not feel a spark with Fiona Celestine Arabella Coyne.

"Hey, Im," Fiona said, as she pulled her face just slightly away from the other girl's. "I have one stipulation for this whole marriage thing..."

"Anything," the younger girl complied, ready to return to their long-awaited kisses.

The socialite smiled, pressing her forehead firmly against her fiancée's. "The sushi is allowed to have crab in it."

Imogen laughed at the older girl's amusing request and rolled her eyes. "Fine! God, you are _such_ a tough negotiator! How am I supposed to ever say no to you when you have those irresistible royal charms?" she asked rhetorically, as she eagerly brought her lips back to the other girl's—a girl who would, in a few short hours, be her wife.

.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey guys! Just wanted to thank you all, once again, for reading and reviewing. I love reading each review that gets posted :)  
><strong>**Hope everyone still likes the story-I've got one last chapter planned for it. This little fic is going to be hard for me to say goodbye to, because I've enjoyed writing it so much! But who knows, ****maybe I'll start up another one in the near future...  
><strong>**Have fun reading!**

**-Lauren (aka: Lollypopf)**


	19. Chapter 19- My Happy Ending

**Chapter 19-** My Happy Ending

"City Hall looks a lot bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside," Imogen said as she took her seat on the blue chair beside her fiancée. "Must be some sort of wizardry," she speculated, humorously.

"Obvi. Hmm…A _Protego Totalum_ spell, perhaps?" The socialite asked, smiling very proudly at the young girl.

"Fiones!" After setting her small purse down, Imogen excitedly leaned over and placed a quick kiss on the older girl's cheek, "just when I think that you can't possibly be anymore perfect, you go and say something like that! You just wait until we get home, Miss Coyne, you just wait…"

The socialite cocked a curious eyebrow. "Oh? Will there be lots of kissing?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

Moving in closer to her girlfriend's ear, the quirky girl lowered her voice down to a whisper. "You keep up that spell talk, and there will be a whole lot more than kissing."

Unable to contain her laugh, Fiona rolled her icy blue eyes. She reached out and grabbed Imogen's resting hands and gave them soft squeeze. "Only _you_ would be turned on by Harry Potter references. Je t'aime tellement, you little weirdo."

"I love you, too," the younger girl grinned, with a full and sincere heart. As their gazes met, her mind drifted into their future as she thought of what adventures still lie ahead of them—would they still travel a lot and continue seeing the world? Would they decide, instead, to settle down and start a family? Or would their life consist of an intimidating mixture of both? There was still so much left to discover about each other, and so much left to decide, but as for now there was only one thing that they needed to do—be together. And that was simple enough.

The socialite tilted her head to the side, confused by the girl's sudden silence. "Hey, you're not having second thoughts about this, are ya? You're one hundred percent sure this is what you want?"

"I've never been more sure of anything," her voice stated confidently. "What about you? This is all okay with you?"

As she adjusted herself in her cushioned seat, the older girl opened up the front of her sizeable purse and pulled out the shiny two-carat ring that she had been holding onto for safekeeping. She fiddled with it in her fingers. "Immy, I figured something out about myself a few years ago—as long as _you're_ happy, I'm happy—_You_ getting everything that you want in this world, is everything that I want in this world. So yes, I am okay with all of this. I am more than ready to start the next chapter of our lives together as soon as possible," her voice trailed as she gently slipped the ring back on to her fiancée's hand. "Though, I _do_ wish you would have at least let me change first."

"Nonsense! You look as fabulous as you always do! Besides, I like that we are wearing what we normally do. It's _us."_ Imogen shifted her eyes, turning her attention towards the other girl's clothing. "You in your fancy designer outfit and your extremely high heels—this is the you that I know. This is the you that I want to marry."

Staring at her girlfriend adoringly, Fiona realized that what the girl was saying was absolutely right—Imogen in her black boots, red jacket, and perky bun was the Imogen that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. So it only made sense for that to be the same Imogen present on their wedding day. "Come see," her voice said with a whisper, drawing the other girl closer. Holding the quirky girl's chin, she placed a tender and affectionate kiss on her fiancées' anticipating lips.

"Coyne? Moreno?" the voice interrupted from down the hall.

Opening her eyes, and slowly pulling away from their kiss, Imogen's mouth formed into a smile. "That's us," she said with a grin, keeping her brown eyes fixed into those blue ones.

The socialite lifted up from her seat and opened her arms, waiting for the petite girl to move into them. "Let's go get married," she grinned, savoring their last tight hug as an unwed couple.

…

"Have you ladies prepared your own vows, or would you like to use the traditional ones?" the Justice of the Peace asked, alternating his focus between the two girls.

Fiona's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, I didn't even think about vows! I would have loved to have written my own; there's so much that I want to say to you, and I don't want to just-"

"Fiones," the younger girl interrupted calmly, "relax. We can just wing it," she assured with a spirited wink.

"Sooo, _not_ the traditional vows?" The man's voice questioned skeptically.

"No," Imogen answered, her voice firm. "We're about to write our own." Seeing her apprehensive fiancée, she reached out and held onto those soft pale hands. "Hey," she smirked, "don't be nervous. It's just you and me—just say whatever you feel."

The socialite nodded her head, quickly collecting her thoughts. Letting out a deep breath, she relished the warmth of the tan hands around her own and slowly her nerves began to fall away. "Okay," her gaze found Imogen's eyes, "I'll start."

"Whenever you're ready," the grey haired man commented impatiently. Imogen quickly shot him a disgruntled look before turning her focus back to the gorgeous curly haired brunette and signaling for her to start.

"I've made so many mistakes in my life…" her voice broke the silence. "My past is so dark that it could shadow an _entire universe_. I remember being at one of my lowest points, convinced that there was no way anyone could ever love me because I was a mess and thought that I was unworthy of being loved. But right now," she shrugged her shoulders, keeping her eyes fixed on the younger girl, "right now I wish that I could go back and tell myself just how wrong I was. You came into my life and you completely took me by surprise, Immy. You turned my world upside down in the best way possible and somehow your love for me inspired me to have love for myself—something that I desperately needed. You made me stronger, and helped me battle my demons. I appreciate you so much, and I will never be able to thank you enough for how you've affected me and shaped my life into something meaningful." Lifting up a hand, she wiped a tear from her cheek, and then brought it back down to her fiancée's grasp. "Being with you forever? It's the best decision that I'll ever make, my little monkey-related soul mate. You're so adorable and unique and wonderfully weird, and I love you heaps and elephant loads." Her racing heart skipped a beat, looking at Imogen's lingering smile. "You brighten even my dimmest days. You see the world in a way that nobody else does—You see _me_ in a way that nobody else does, and I am so grateful for that. I remember the very first day that I met you—I asked you if your group had room for one more and you said that you already had four and that it _must_ be true because it rhymed. Well here is my little rhymed truth for you: You are the most significant and valuable part of my whole entire life. I plan to prove that to you every single day, _each second _that I'm your wife."

Imogen felt her newly repaired heart pounding inside of her chest as she let each word resonate, deciding that no pre-planned vows could have sounded as perfect as the ones she just heard. _How would I ever live without this girl? _her mind wondered. Tugging at those delicate, manicured hands, she suddenly drew Fiona in and kissed her on her cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, "you're remarkable."

The Justice of the Peace cleared his throat. "Eh hem, it's your turn, Miss."

Bobbing her head up and down, the eccentric girl then began her own spontaneous vows. "Fiona, you have the softest, most beautiful heart out of anyone I've ever met. You're patient, even during the times that I don't deserve any patience; You're selfless, even whenever I'm being completely selfish and unreasonable; And you accept me in all of my forms, even my worst ones. You know me better than anyone else in the entire world, and somehow you still manage to love me." Imogen paused for a second, admiring the other girl's radiance and cherishing the moment. "I don't know how I got to be so incredibly lucky that you would choose me—a quirky, erratic weirdo—but I am so thankful that you did…I think of these vows, not only as a promise, but also as a privilege—a privilege because I am the one who gets to say them to you. So thank you for letting me be the one." Adjusting her stance, the young girl straightened her back and smiled. "I promise to _never_ watch The Notebook without you, because I know that's your all-time favorite movie; I promise to _always_ let you have the aisle seat on our flights, because I know how much you hate heights; I promise to always give you the last slice of pizza and the last scoop of ice-cream; I promise that anytime one of your beloved high heels snaps, we will give it the respect that it so deserves and retire the pair with a proper goodbye."

Fiona let out an overdramatic gasp, "Don't speak of such dreadful days!" she laughed through her sniffles.

Rolling her eyes at the socialite's abnormal attachment to shoes, the quirky girl broke her speech with her own small chuckle. "Okay, I promise not to speak of such dreadful days." Looking back at the older girl, her expression turned more serious. "But most of all, I promise to save all of my tightest hugs and my deepest kisses for you; I promise to love you at all times—when it's easy, and when it takes effort. What we have is too special to let it go to waste, Fiones. After all, how many people can say that they found their soul mates in high school? Degrassi will always hold a special place in my heart because it led me to you. You are perfect, and I promise not to ever let you forget that."

After wiping away the more prominently smeared mascara with her sleeve, Fiona turned to face the older man. "Can I kiss her yet?" she asked with a hopeful voice, as Imogen chuckled at the classy girl's eagerness.

"Almost," he answered, amused by the peculiar duo. "I'll speed this part up for you." He turned to face the younger girl. "Do you, Imogen Moreno, take Fiona Coyne to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"Absolutely I do," she beamed. Her right hand lifted into the air. "Scout's honor!"

The man tilted his head, looking at her quizzically. "Well that's a first..." he mumbled under his breath, directing his attention to Fiona. "Do you, Fiona Coyne, take-"

"Wait!" Imogen interrupted. "Use her full name. A name _that_ splendidly fancy deserves to be used in the most special moments." Walking closer to the Justice of the Peace, she leaned close to his ear and whispered her fiancée's two middle names.

Completely in awe of this one-of-a-kind situation, he scratched his head and started over. "My apologies... Do you, Fiona _Celestine Arabella_ Coyne," he shifted his eyes to Imogen, awaiting her nod to verify that he had pronounced it correctly, before continuing, "take Imogen Moreno to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"Could I be more obvious?" Fiona reached out and pulled Imogen in close enough to seal their lips in their first married kiss, not even waiting for the man's permission. After all, Imogen was _her wife_, and no one was going to tell the determined socialite when she could or couldn't kiss her own wife.

"Well okay then," he shrugged. "By the power vested in me by the province of Ontario, I now pronounce you legally married. You can umm…_continue_ kissing your bride." He shook his head and slipped his files into the manila folder. "This has been…_different_, to say the least. Congratulations, ladies. I wish you the best of luck."

After thanking the man, Fiona twisted back around to face her brand-new wife. "Ready to go home and begin our honeymoon of S's—snuggling, shopping, and sushi?"

"Ready," the young girl confirmed, linking her arm through the socialite's and moving towards the exit. As their pace quickened, Imogen found herself listening to each clacking noise the heels made as they stepped across the concrete floor. Hearing that treasured sound, she smiled to herself, having absolutely zero doubt in her mind or in her heart that she had done exactly what her dad wanted—she had found her happiness…and there was no way that she'd ever let go of it again.

...

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, guys, here's the deal-this isn't the ending I was going to have on this story. I was actually going to skip through their wedding and have the story pick up at a little bit later point to end it, but after reading your comments, everyone seemed really excited about the wedding so I decided to go ahead write the wedding for you guys (one reason it took me so long to post this chapter was because it took me awhile to get their vows exactly how I wanted them.) I hope you enjoyed the wedding!-that's my little "thank you" for being faithful readers and commenters. If you guys want, I can add a small epilogue when I get time-the epilogue would essentially be the original ending that was planned for the story. Or if you like it ending with the wedding, I can just leave it here :) I'm happy with the story either way, so just let me know what y'all want!**

**-Lauren**


	20. Chapter 20- I Love You (An Epilogue)

**Chapter 20-** I Love You

Fiona awoke fairly early the day following their wedding…early by any diva's standards, at least. The large bedroom was quiet and filled with a sense of peace. As her eyes slowly crept open, she was reminded of how incredibly enchanting it felt to wake up in the morning lying next to Imogen—something she hadn't been able to do in over a month. Her manicured fingers pushed a few long black curls behind her ear as her blue eyes hovered on the view of her beautiful, sleeping new wife. Very slowly the socialite reached under the covers and clasped the younger girl's hand, guiding it up to rest on top of her own heartbeat, while being very attentive not to wake Imogen from her much-needed slumber.

Fiddling with those perfect, tan fingers, Fiona's thoughts shifted to cynical as she digested just how 'too-good-to-be-true' the previous day had been—to go from being broken up to married in just a few spontaneous hours, it seemed like it could only be some kind of dream…as if she would wake up and be in New York, five hundred excruciating miles from her soul mate, and five hundred excruciating miles from their broken relationship. Turning onto her side, she positioned her head into the crook of Imogen's neck and closed her eyes, savoring every ounce of warmth that was radiating from the girl's body. It wasn't just a dream, she confidently concluded. It couldn't be, because nothing could ever feel more real than what she was feeling in that very moment—complete and utter bliss. And just like that, all of her skepticism faded away and she drifted back to sleep…

...

"Pssst!" Imogen gave the other girl's shoulder a small nudge. "Pssst, Fionesss!" she whispered, despite her obvious intention of waking Fiona up. As the older girl began to stir, Imogen gently lowered her head down in front of her wife's face, waiting for their eyes to meet. "Hey there," she grinned. "Good morning."

Leaning forward ever so slightly, Fiona placed a delicate kiss on the awaiting lips in front of her. "Good morning to you, too. Sleep well?"

The younger girl rolled onto her back and then positioned herself against the headboard. "The best I've slept in years! I'm convinced that my fabulous little New York socialite could cure even the worst insomniac."

"Immy!" Fiona blushed, covering her face with her hands.

"Well it's true! You've got quite a gift, Fiona Coyne."

Rolling her eyes overdramatically, the socialite poked her wife's hip in an assertive tickle. Imogen laughed as she tried to squirm away from the persistent fingers. "Oh, I don't think so," Fiona said, wrapping her long arms around the other girl, preventing her escape. "You're stuck with me forever, remember?"

Hearing those words sent a flutter through Imogen's heart. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Good." Fiona released her grip and repositioned her pillow behind her back before settling into her side of the bed. "Sooo, what's on the agenda?"

"Hmm…well this weekend we have our honeymoon plans…"

"Obvi," the older girl added, nodding her head.

As she tapped her chin, Imogen ran through the thoughts in her refreshed mind. "I suppose I will return to my classes on Monday. I don't know how they're possibly getting by without me over there. I'm kind of a big deal," she winked playfully.

"You're ready to go back to class?" the older girl interrupted, smiling optimistically at Imogen.

"Fiooones, don't make a big deal out of it. I have to go, ready or not. I _need _to graduate this semester. Life's got to move on, right?" her voice was hesitant as her eyes shifted down towards the blanket.

"It absolutely does." Fiona placed her soft hand on top of Imogen's interlaced fingers. "We'll get you through this," she assured, "whatever it takes."

Leaning her head against the other girl's shoulder, Imogen exhaled. "When do you have to go back to New York?"

"Well the two weeks I had scheduled off ends next Friday… but I was thinking maybe I should just quit—stay here with you. We could figure the rest out later."

Imogen shook her head from side to side. "I don't want you to quit. You love your job, and you love New York. I love New York—it's where I want us to start our future together, Fi."

"I'm tired of being away from you," Fiona interjected, "and I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

"It's only for two months. We've done the back-and-forth thing for years, I think I can handle two more months." Her petite shoulders shrugged. "Besides, I won't be alone. I've got Mom, and the little monsters to keep me company when I feel down. And you and I will still talk on the phone every single night."

Fiona looked down apprehensively, and shifted the other girl's chin upward. "Are you sure about this? Because, really, it's just a job, Immy. Being with you means so much more to me."

"I know it does. But I'm sure."

"Okay," the socialite reluctantly agreed. "But I'm going to at least try and get my vacation extended. I just can't see leaving you at a time like this, and I'm sorry if that makes me seem like a static cling monster, but I just-"

"Fiona," Imogen interrupted, placing her index finger over her wife's glistening lips, "it doesn't make you a cling monster…it makes you amazing." Eyeing those tousled black curls and her unblemished face, she found it unbelievable that she was ever able to find such an insanely beautiful person—inside and out—and even more unbelievable that this person had for some reason agreed to be her wife. Forever. Shifting her weight onto her left elbow, she drew her face closer to Fiona's and kissed her as adamantly as her heart was pounding inside of her chest. Her determined right hand found the girl's waist and pulled it in closer against her own. Deepening their kiss even more, and running her fingers through those same dark curls, she gently lowered her wife's head down against the pillow. Blindly, her hand reached down to pull the blanket further over their bodies.

Maybe tomorrow she would return to being numbingly grief-stricken from her father's passing; maybe tomorrow life would hit her with another tragic twist of fate, and turn her life upside down; maybe tomorrow the world would end…maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow—_so freaking what?_ She realized that with a Fiona Coyne by her side, she really could get through anything, no matter how difficult a thing it may be. _Bring it on, tomorrow. I dare you._ Briefly, she parted from the other girl's lips and hovered for a few lingering seconds, gazing into those dangerously blue eyes. God, did she love that girl. _Yesterday, today, and tomorrow._

…

The two months went by surprisingly fast, much to both of the girls' delights. Fiona had been tremendously busy back at work, catching up from the full four-week vacation that she was able to swing…the company was apparently incompetent without her, and got practically nothing done in her absence. Thankfully, she was more productive than ever, now that she was no longer distracted by the presence of a certain boy roommate that had managed to weasel his way back into Clare's good graces.

Imogen glided through her last weeks of classes, acing all of her final exams. Most of her free time was spent visiting her mom, and being reminded of just how annoying little siblings could be. _They're lucky they're so cute_, she repeatedly told herself.

Pulling into their driveway after returning from her weekly flower drop-off at the cemetery, Imogen's eyes noticed the 'For Sale' sign sticking out of the ground that the realtor finally found the time to put out. Her hand turned the keys and killed the engine. Looking at their first house, she recalled all of the memorable moments they had shared there together—certainly not as many as their next home would have, but still enough to make selling it somewhat disheartening. _Where else are we going to be able to find such beautifully arched ceilings?_ But it was time to move on—tomorrow she would be graduating, and then in a few short days she would officially become a New Yorker. A smile crept across her face.

Imogen walked up to that red front door, clutching her purse with one hand, and twisting the knob with the other. After setting her things down on the counter, she searched for her phone and anxiously held it up to her ear as it began to ring. Tapping her fingers impatiently on the countertop, she found herself greeted by the socialite's infamous voicemail. Imogen let out a huff, setting her phone down in front of her. _I guess she's still on the plane,_ she decided with a shrug. As the familiarity of the situation sank in, a thought crossed her mind. _Hmm…I wonder…_Her brown eyes squinted suspiciously while her mouth formed into a smirk.

Opening the refrigerator, the young girl's suspicions were confirmed as she immediately found what she was looking for resting on top of that middle shelf. With a small squeal, she slammed the fridge doors shut and then excitedly made her way through their home in search of her extremely gorgeous and breathtakingly flawless wife. As she bounced up the stairs, her nostrils and heart filled with the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5.

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**A/N: There you have it, guys!-The ending that I had originally planned for the story (I really love that it completely comes full circle with how the very first chapter started.) I do like having the wedding AND this chapter though, so thank you for inspiring me to write the wedding scene :)  
><strong>**Sorry it took me so long to finally post this, I've been swamped with university stuff lately. I do have my next story all planned out (it's going to be a continuation of this one. I really enjoy writing these characters), however, I don't know when I will have the time to actually write it! So please be patient with me. Hopefully my workload will ease up soon, and I'll have a little free time for writing.**

**Until next time, thank you for reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of the feedback!**

**-Lauren**


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